


Elements of Control

by LadyJaguar



Category: Holby City
Genre: BDSM, Berena as a couple, Bondage and Discipline, CEO, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Drama and Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erotic Games, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Dominant, Fire, First Time, Flac, Flac as a couple, Happy Ending, Light BDSM, Love Story, Opposites Attract, Punishment play, Revenge, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Side characters but still relevant, St. Andrew's Cross, Submission, Vanilla Kink, berena - Freeform, cute despite the punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-13 01:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaguar/pseuds/LadyJaguar
Summary: Note 1: This is the short Holby version, set after the shooting and before the whole John Gaskell debacle.After the latest trauma, I thought Henrik deserved some romance and fun outside Holby City. In this story, he is in for a shock when a business colleague brings an alluring woman to the hospital with an unusual injury.He cannot help but be intrigued, but Lady Gabrielle terrifies him. When she begins talking about her work, he finds himself drawn into a dark and unfamiliar world. It is only when he's in too deep, the consequences of disobeying her strict rules threaten to ruin him.





	1. Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanssen meets Lady Gabrielle for the first time after she arrives at the hospital with unusual injuries and a reluctance to talk about what caused them.

_Ten taps. Methodical, one on each pressure point. Temples, wrists, elbows. One, two, three...._

Control resumed.

Hanssen opened his eyes. His office looked the same as it had previously, but he felt centred within it. He belonged again.

_Deep, steady breaths, the faint but unmistakable scent of sandalwood. Oxygen flowing. In, out. In...._

Serena interrupted his carefully constructed state of calm. 'Sorry, Henrik, John Sanders is down in AAU.' She gave her customary grimace every time she said the Chairman's name. 'He'd like a word.'

Hanssen glanced at his watch. It was past ten o'clock at night. 'It's very late. Mr. Sanders is usually installed a wine bar by this time.'

'It's a delicate situation.' Serena slipped into the office and shut the door. 'He arrived with a woman who...'

'Isn't his wife? I can't say I'm surprised.'

'He says he found her on the roadside and was her knight in shining armour. That was my reaction as well,' she added when he gave her a sceptical look. 'She sustained lacerations to her wrist and face. Why are you here so late, anyway? You should go home and get some sleep.'

Hanssen ignored her question and rose from his chair. It wasn't the first time the Chairman had asked for his help. It was a tenuous situation, as Sanders was also the majority shareholder in a company called Pharmacure, which had provided most of the equipment used in the cardio ward a couple of years before. Since then, it seemed Hanssen was under some kind of obligation. It was beyond ludicrous. The last time, they had ostensibly been attending a golfing weekend, when in reality Sanders was with his mistress in Rome.

The hospital was deathly quiet. Hanssen often roamed the corridors at that time. He found the echoing solitude comforting, and would rather be there than at home with nothing but memories and guilt.

'Henrik! Good to see you.' Sanders was all false bonhomie. From the flush on his face, he had been hitting the red wine. As the two men shook hands, Hanssen looked through the window at the woman sitting on the bed. She was of indeterminate age, with sharply bobbed black hair and a shapely figure in a black corset and red silk skirt that spilled over the bed like blood. She was leaning back into the pillows, having her head examined by Dom, who was talking to her as if nothing was untoward at all.

'Is she a friend of yours, Mr. Sanders?'

'I found her limping along the road. Thought I'd do the decent thing,' Sanders said hurriedly. He lowered his voice. 'I need this to be kept under wraps. After all, it doesn't exactly look good, does it?'

Hanssen bit back an acerbic comment. 'Your private affairs are no concern of mine. How did she sustain the injury?'

'I have no idea. Like I said, I found her. Could you give her this?' He thrust a fat white envelope into Hanssen's hands. 'Thanks, Henrik. I knew I could rely on you to sort this mess out.' He slapped Hanssen on the shoulder and walked away.

Through the glass, the woman was watching.

Hanssen drew an exasperated breath and went into the room.

'Who do we have here?' He forced a smile at the woman, who looked coolly back at him.

'This is Lady Gabrielle. Injuries sustained whilst using a cat o'nine tails. She's also twisted her ankle. I'm waiting for the x-ray results to come back.' Dom's face was straight, but his eyes were dancing.

Lady Gabrielle, however, did not seem to see the funny side. She motioned to the envelope in Hanssen's hand. 'Is that for me?'

'Er... yes.' He put it on the table next to her.

She made a disgusted sound and shook her head. 'Well, I'm very grateful. He showed true gallantry.'

Her voice suggested anything but. Hanssen exchanged a glance with Dom.

'Is there anything you care to tell us?' Hanssen asked.

'I'm sorry, who are you?'

'Mr. Hanssen is our CEO,' Dom said.

Hanssen peered down at the wounds on her upper cheek. There were several cuts, mostly minor lacerations, the bigger ones still seeping blood. 'How did this happen?'

'It was a new cat. I should have practised more.'

Hanssen's brow furrowed. 'I don't follow you.'

'A cat o'nine tails. I wasn't accustomed to the weight. I was cut when I used it. Then I slipped and turned my ankle. Laddered my stockings.' She flipped up her skirt to show a long leg. The black silk stocking was indeed ripped from the knee upwards. She pushed her skirt down again and grimaced. 'I was stupid.'

Hanssen could tell it wasn't the whole story. 'Is that all you care to tell me?'

She gave him a level look. 'Client confidentiality. You get the idea.'

'If Mr. Sanders assaulted you...'

'Mr. Sanders found me as I was walking to a friend's house to get help. He gave me a lift.' She spoke as if the whole story was rehearsed. 'Whatever. You don't like him, do you, Mr. Hanssen?'

He felt uncomfortable under her penetrating stare. Then she smiled wickedly. 'Or maybe you do. Is he a colleague? A frenemy? Or your lover?'

Dom snorted a laugh, earning a terse look from Hanssen. 'Sorry,' he muttered, but struggled to keep the grin from his face.

'Mr. Sanders is Chairman of our Board. If he's behaved inappropriately...'

'Stop right there, Mr. Hanssen. Whatever the issue is between you and Mr. Sanders, I have no intention of being used as a pawn in some kind of sordid power game. I had an accident. I went to get help. He found me and gave me a lift to hospital. End of story.' She winced as Dom applied Steri-strips to her face. 'It hurts like a bitch.'

Dom smiled reassuringly at the woman. 'That's all done now. I'll chase up your x-ray results, and presuming everything is clear, you'll be free to go.' He rapidly left the room, leaving Hanssen alone with the woman.

'I assume you have everything you need, Mrs...'

'Lady Gabrielle.'

'Indeed. When you're ready to be discharged, we'll arrange for a taxi to take you home.' Hanssen nodded once to confirm the statement and headed rapidly for the door.

'Did I say you could leave?'

Her voice cut through Hanssen like ice. He froze, reaching out for the door handle, then turned back to face her. 'I'm sorry?'

'Come and stand at the end of the bed.'

The woman's eyes were fierce. Slowly, Hanssen did as he was bid. After all, there was no harm in humouring her.

'Is there anything else I can help you with?'

She held up a peremptory finger. 'I didn't give you permission to speak.'

Hanssen stared mutely at her. After a moment, she smiled.

'That's very good! Now you may ask anything you like. I know you want to.' She winked saucily at him.

'Mr. Sander's private life is not my concern.'

'Sanders is history. This is about your curiosity about me.'

'And as I said, it isn't my concern.'

'But you're intrigued.'

'Not at all.' Hanssen directed his gaze at the ceiling.

'You're lying. Hands behind your back.'

'I don't have time...'

'It's late evening. You have plenty of time. If we were in my basement, your bottom would be raw by now. You're very disobedient.' She smiled slightly. 'I like that, up to a point. Just make sure it doesn't become tedious. I'm going to ask you again. Hands ...'

Hanssen placed his hands behind his back, his fingers linked together. 'Satisfied?'

'Insubordination does not go unpunished under any circumstances.'

'Is this how Mr. Sanders spends his free time? Being humiliated by a ...'

'A what? A whore? 'Is that what you think I am?'

Hanssen stared straight ahead at the wall. 'Mr. Sander's private life....' 

'Is not your concern. Yes, you said that before, Mr. Hanssen. I'm not fond of people who repeat themselves, and I'm not in the habit of doing it myself, so I'll say this only once. I provide a service for which I command a great deal of respect. I choose my clients after a rigorous interview process. Not everyone is successful.'

'I see.' Hanssen looked to the door. It seemed a long way away.

'No, you obviously don't. You think I'm a prostitute, but you couldn't be more wrong.' The woman's voice was sharp.

'In what way?' Hanssen was annoyed with himself for asking. She disturbed him intensely. He didn't like the game she obviously thought they were playing, but somehow he had become involved in it. He wished Dom would come back.

'Do you know what a domme does, Mr. Hanssen?'

Hanssen rocked on his heels and stood straight again, his posture rigid. 'Of course. I am a man of the world.' He looked at the floor, the ceiling, at anything but her.

Gabrielle laughed. 'I'll be the judge of that.'

'For the record, I'm not interested in your services, thank you.' He kept his voice neutral, so she wouldn't detect his discomfiture.

'Yet your first instinct was to obey me, and now you're asking questions about what I do.'

Their eyes locked.

'So what is it you do?'

She patted the mattress next to her. 'Come here and I'll tell you.'

'I'm quite comfortable here, thank you.'

She laughed out loud. 'You don't look comfortable, Mr. Hanssen. Perhaps you would be if you removed the poker stuck up your backside.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Come on.' She beckoned to him. 'I don't bite unless you want me to.'

He didn't know whether he could trust her. She was in turns terrifying and alluring, with her luscious curves, long legs and kohl-rimmed eyes. He was loathe to admit she was the most interesting person he had spoken to all day.

'I know why you're hesitating. Trust hasn't been established yet, and trust is the most important thing between a sub and a dom. If you don't have that, the relationship becomes abusive. I give my word I won't lay a finger on you. All we're doing is talking.' Her red-tipped fingers stroked the mattress.

He felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. To be so close to a member of the opposite sex, close enough to feel their warmth and smell their perfume, that had been a pleasure denied him for too long. He took a faltering step and sat carefully where her hand had been.

She put her hands demurely in her lap. 'You're a very tall man, Mr. Hanssen. I believe you would look very fine on my crux decussata.' Her smile became feline. 'What is it you'd like to know?'

Hanssen knew what she was referring to, and all kinds of images played through his mind.

'The St. Andrew's Cross, or saltire,' he murmured.

'Very good. Someone knows their Latin,' she smiled.

'The benefits of a classical education, Lady Gabrielle.'

'I do like an educated man, but ones' education should always be enhanced, as I believe you already know. So what is it you'd like to ask me?'

'Why do people do it?' He asked, when he could trust himself to speak without croaking.

'You probably know the reason for that already. People at the top of their game need some way of letting off some steam, of releasing all that pent-up frustration and pressure of their high-powered careers. Surgeons with the ability to give life or take it away, businessmen balancing billions of pounds and countless employees, QC's whose decisions can put a man in jail for life, you understand?'

'Absolutely.'

Her hazel eyes met his. 'These high-flying people sometimes get tired of being in control. They are expected to be immovable, immutable, like standing stones. Fissures of vulnerability can undermine the position they have fought so hard for. Some do extreme sports. Others turn to drink or drugs, or have affairs left, right and centre. And others come to me.'

'What do they hope to achieve?'

'You tell me. You're in a position of power, with people watching to see if your feet are made of clay. You're alone, repressed... When was the last time you lost control? When was the last time you had any fun at all?'

Hanssen did not dare look at her. He held himself stiff so she would not sense him trembling inside. The last few months had been challenging, clawing back the respect he had lost when Frederik... He shuddered, forcing the panic back down. Control was something that taunted him every day. As for sex... it had been a very long time since he had allowed himself to think about that.

'Does the thought of sex make you uneasy?'

'I'm quite aware of what's involved.' Hanssen felt as if he had been stuck down like a butterfly impaled on a pin.

'With respect, I don't think you have a clue.' She reached down and gathered up her skirt again, exposing that long, elegant leg. Higher and higher, until her skin was exposed above the lace webbing. At the very top was a black leather garter belt. An attached pocket held her mobile phone and a small card. She slipped the card in his jacket top pocket.

He realised he was staring at the area where black silk met creamy skin. The desire to reach out and stroke that tempting flesh was almost unbearable.

'I have to go,' he said, leaping to his feet. 'I'll arrange a taxi for you.'

She smiled gently. 'I would appreciate that, but just one more thing. This damned corset is killing me. Would you do the honours?' She carefully rose from the bed, tested the weight on her sore ankle, then turned her back on him, holding on to the end of the bed.

Hanssen was hugely relieved that she had not pursued her line of questioning, but he looked at the intricate web of satin laces and bows with some trepidation. His skilled surgeon's fingers seemed as clumsy as sausages as they pulled at the most obvious knot, accidentally brushing against the woman's back.

She squeaked in protest. 'Your hands are cold. I suggest you warm them up.'

'I apologise.' Hanssen blew on his fingers and carefully began again. The woman stretched her neck and arched her back as the stays gradually loosened. She sighed in almost sexual pleasure at the relief of pressure on her rib cage.

'This is where you say, "Lady Gabrielle, I release you from your sensual bondage,"' she said, laughing lightly.

Hanssen paused. 'I beg your pardon?'

She held the corset to her body and turned around to face him. 'Thank you, Mr. Hanssen. You're a true gentleman.' She gave a little gasp and dropped the corset to the floor, revealing shapely, full breasts, creamy white with rosy, erect nipples. 'Whoops,' she murmured.

For a moment, he froze, unable to take his eyes off her. Then he swooped and scrambled for the garment. As he was trying to wrap it around her again, Dom chose that moment to walk back into the room. His eyes went wide at the scene before him.

'I can come back...'

'That won't be necessary.' Hanssen thrust the corset at Gabrielle and dived for the door. Dom and Gabrielle watched him striding down the corridor before heading into the mens' bathroom.

'Did he just ....?' Dom was lost for words.

'Everything is just fine, Dr. Copeland.' Gabrielle glanced towards the corridor, smiling slightly. 'I doubt he'll be in there for long.'

Dom grinned at her. 'You are so naughty, Lady Gabrielle.'

'I can't help it. I was born that way.' She winked at him. 'Could you...?' She motioned to the corset.

'Of course. Who does this for you at home?'

'Jordan. He's my lodger. He made this for me. That's perfect. Thank you.'

'He's very talented,' Dom said as he tied the last bow.

'He's a drag artist.' She turned to face him. 'I think you'd like him. He's definitely into cute doctors.'

'That's sweet, but I'm already taken, I'm afraid.' Dom flipped open the iPad.' The x-ray came back clear. It's just a bad sprain, so you're free to go. Walking on it is good, rather than sitting down for days. It'll heal faster.' He handed some papers and an ice pack to her. 'I'll escort you to your carriage, my lady.'

He took her arm and went with her to the waiting taxi. 'Don't do too much ...' He made a whipping motion.

'There's more than one way to skin a cat, you know.' She grinned at him.

'Stay naughty.' Dom returned the grin and bounced off to check on his other patients.

Gabrielle took one last look down the corridor. Hanssen was nowhere in sight, but she had no doubt she would be receiving a call in the near future.


	2. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Gabrielle sets out the rules of her playroom, and a very nervous Hanssen finds himself intrigued enough to take the first tentative steps towards submission.

She had dressed carefully so as not to intimidate him. Her hair was a naturally wavy blonde instead of the black Louise Brooks wig that went with her persona, but she still wore the Chanel Rouge lipstick that was her trademark. Her suit was close-fitting, a fine houndstooth check, with a white silk shirt and sheer black stockings. Her heels were high, not too spiky, and she had spritzed herself with a toned-down version of the perfume she usually wore at night. The idea was to trigger his memory, yet not scare him into thinking there was no way back from the journey he had embarked on.

That is, if he turned up.

She glanced at the Victorian grandfather clock. Five minutes. If he was coming, he wouldn't be late. She had warned him that tardiness would not go down well.

Three minutes.

At exactly four o'clock Jordan entered the room.

'Your guest has arrived, m'lady.'

Lady Gabrielle smiled. Somehow, she always knew he would.

*****

'There's something eternally comforting about ritual,' she said, pouring tea into two dainty, bone-china teacups. She motioned to a tea plate on which she she had arranged several pastel-coloured almond macarons. 'Please help yourself.'

'I agree, although not everyone shares our view. Some would say they are a way of denying the truth.'

It seemed an odd thing to say, but given what she knew of him, Gabrielle could see where he was coming from. As a long-term sufferer of OCD, it was his way of retaining control over situations he found difficult to cope with, yet not everything in his life had gone to his plan.

Hardly any of it, if the truth be told. With his emotions so tightly repressed, it wasn't surprising he had suffered the breakdown months before. To have his mental state discussed in the media must have been agonising for him.

Hanssen was perched on the chair as if it might bite him at any moment. He was resplendent in a dark three-piece suit and understated silk tie, his shirt cuffs fastened with gold links. It seemed he had taken as much care with his appearance as she had.

Interesting.

Gabrielle picked up a macaron. 'Rituals are a part of life. They ground us when we're feeling lost.' She twisted the two sides of macaron apart and licked demurely at the creamy filling, aware he was watching her every move. 'My work is all about rituals. They are a vital part of what I do.'

'I don't follow you.'

'I'll explain. I have a client, a man who has been coming to me for a few years now. I see him maybe twice, three times a year. We enjoy afternoon tea, rather like we are doing now, but the difference is, he wears a dog collar and sits at my feet. We listen to Bach. There isn't much conversation. When I ask him to pour me another cup of tea he does it without argument. For a while, he does everything I ask, then assumes his position right here.' She motioned to the area beside her legs. 'If he's obedient, I feed him a macaron, but when he's naughty, he tries to distract me so he can steal another one. Of course, I always catch him, and then I have to chastise him for his cheekiness, so I take him to my play area and beat his bottom with a studded leather paddle. That is the ritual we employ every time. For him, it is a form of comfort.'

Hanssen's cup rattled on the saucer. 'And you'd like to do that with me?'

She bit her lip to stop herself smiling. 'You've missed my point. That is what the _client_ wants. He runs a multi-million pound corporation but sometimes, all he wants is some quiet, the opportunity to listen to classical music and indulge in his fantasy. We have reached the point now where we don't have to sit and negotiate his expectations at every visit. Enough trust has been built up so that when I open the door, the game begins immediately. With new clients, there is a lot of negotiation, so I fully understand their needs before play begins. Some want nothing more than a simple spanking. With others, the game is deeper, more complex. Sometimes, the game changes. What doesn't change is the exchange of power, from them, to me, given of their own free will.'

She could seen Hanssen thinking about it, his brow furrowing in two rather endearing lines between his thick, dark brows. He looked out of the large window towards her immaculately tended garden, then around the tastefully decorated room. She had no photographs, or anything to give any personal information about herself, something that was not lost on him.

'Are you married?'

'I was once.' She would give him that, at least. 'Would you like some more tea?'

'Do you have sex with your clients?' The question had a definite edge. He radiated ... something. Disapproval? Perhaps, and also naked hope. It was faint, but definitely there.

She straightened up in her chair and gave him an indignant glare. 'Really, Mr. Hanssen, I didn't expect such an indelicate question from you.'

Immediately, he capitulated. 'I apologise, Lady Gabrielle.'

She hid another smile behind her tea cup. 'Apology accepted. What I do isn't about sex. It's about control. Each client's needs are different, but I do have my own hard limits, so you're aware from the start.'

He looked confused. 'Hard limits?'

'Things I won't do. Edge play with knives, needles, drills, hammers, things that can cause long-term physical and psychological damage. If you want that, I can put you in touch with several dommes who will ...'

'No, thank you,' Hanssen said hastily. 'Anything else?'

'I don't accept penetrative sex or give oral stimulation, including kissing on the lips. The only exception would be using my use of instruments on my clients. And I won't deal with any bodily fluids other than saliva and semen.' She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'Between you and I, I'm a little squeamish, probably more so than you.' She leaned over to look at his hands, long fingers and nails bitten to the quick. Gathering one of them up in her palm, she stroked it with her other hand. His lifeline was deep. She ran her fingertip along it, feeling the reaction her touch had on him.

'Do you play the piano?'

'No.' His voice had dropped an octave.

'Maybe you should. How many lives have you saved with these hands, Mr. Hanssen?'

'I don't keep a record.'

She sat back in her chair and regarded him. 'You're a brilliant surgeon and an effective CEO, not afraid to make difficult decisions, yet you're also a modest man. Perhaps too modest. Why are you punishing yourself?'

She could guess the answer already, and from the way he shifted in his seat, it was obvious he was uncomfortable with the question.

'How are your injuries?' He had that level, doctor's voice he used by the bedside, no doubt. As a way of deflecting the question, it wasn't subtle, but she decided to humour him.

'They're fine, thank you, but we were talking about you.'

'I would rather not talk about myself.'

'That is patently obvious. I've been doing my homework.' She sipped her tea, assessing his response. It was precisely as she expected. He was angry with her.

'Was that really necessary? I'd rather move on from the whole sorry episode.'

'You mean, forget it? We both know that isn't going to happen.'

He looked towards the door. She calculated he was about 10 seconds away from walking through it, never to return.

'I'm a woman on my own, Mr. Hanssen. It would be foolish of me not to have some background knowledge of potential clients. I'm not here to judge you or heal you. I'm protecting myself, first and foremost, as well as gleaning enough information to give you a positive experience.' She paused for a moment. 'If you're interested in proceeding. That is why you're here, isn't it?'

His eyes were very dark behind the rimless glasses. She could feel the conflict within him. Should he stay or leave?

'As you're here, would you like a tour? I can show you my playroom. It may assist you in making a decision.'

If he said no, then the meeting was over, and her instincts would have failed her for the first time.

He rose from the chair, brushed invisible lint from his jacket and assumed his familiar ultra-correct stance. He seemed to be steeling himself for something. 'I don't see why not.'

She felt very small next to him as they descended the stairs into her basement. At the door, she turned to him. 'Some of this equipment looks rather intimidating, but it's up to each client to choose which piece is to be used. Some prefer me to do the choosing. If the sensation becomes too much, they have a safe word or signal to tell me to stop. If they do that, the game is over. Trust is paramount, Mr. Hanssen. You understand?'

'Of course.'

She opened the door and he followed her in.

The room was a reasonable size, dominated by a large bed at one end, and a wooden St. Andrew's Cross at the other. In the middle was an aluminium cage, currently empty. The two opposite walls were partly mirrored, making the room seem a lot larger than it actually was. Their reflections stretched endlessly away behind them.

She kept the temperature at an ambient 70 degrees, and it smelled of a carefully chosen mix of essential oils, designed to put nervous visitors at ease. Small LED tea lights flickered around the space, casting soft light on the painted black walls.

Her equipment was hung on one wall, with a tall cupboard displaying other items including butt plugs, dildos, gold handcuffs and various floggers and paddles. She kept her room immaculate and her equipment spotlessly clean.

Hanssen walked around the room, looking around him, his face unreadable. She hazarded a guess that most of the items were new to him. The bedside tables on both sides held boxes of tissues and lube.

'I thought you said...'

'Some of my clients experience sexual pleasure. Most of them, actually. But no, I don't have sex with them.'

Hanssen shuddered as she said it. It was obvious he did not care for the idea one bit. He walked over to the cross and picked up the leather strap in the middle, looking quizzically at her.

'Some of my clients are wrigglers. That goes around their waist. Like this.' She gently pushed him back against the contraption and showed him, without actually fastening it. He was as tall as the cross itself, but she could imagine him strapped to it, whimpering for mercy. 'You want to how it feels to be bound up?'

He moved away, but slowly. The idea did not seem to scare him too much. 'What's this?' He motioned to various items on a hospital trolley.

'Candle wax, for punishment play. I drip it on, or stroke it on with a brush. Usually on their cock or tits, sometimes their clit or balls.' She saw him jolt at the word "cock." 'Would you rather I used anatomically correct names for human parts, Mr. Hanssen?'

He looked flustered. 'I don't... I'm not used to.... This is all new for me.'

'But it fascinates you, yes?'

He took a deep breath and held out his hands towards her. 'Would you cuff me? I want to know how that feels.'

The development shocked her. He was moving too fast, almost as if the momentum was making him braver than he really was. She shook her head.

'Not yet. We need to set some ground rules first. Please sit down.' She motioned to the bed.

As he dutifully sat, she took out an A4 notebook and pen, and joined him.

'My client book,' she explained. 'See? No names, just numbers. That way, if the book falls into the wrong hands, no-one will have their private affairs made public.' She opened a fresh page and wrote "025" at the top of the page.

'Is that how many clients you have? Twenty-five?'

'Twenty-four, so far. Remember, I see some of them only a couple of times a year. Now, some questions. First of all, the practicalities. Do you have a heart condition or any medical issues I should know about?'

For the next twenty minutes, she gently quizzed him. Gradually, she began to understand who he was and what he was searching for. Punishment, comfort, release, she could see the picture building of a man who had never really let himself be who he really wanted to be. The rigid posture, the careful way of talking, it was all an act, honed over years of pain and heartache.

'Only a couple more questions,' she said finally. 'I need to know your safe word. The one you use to make everything stop.'

He thought for a very long time. 'Frederik,' he said finally.

'With respect, I would suggest your son's name is the most unsafe word of all. This is your safe space, where you can be completely free of outside world influences. Perhaps choose something totally benign, that doesn't have any significance for you? Maybe the word "red?" It's a common one to use if you would prefer it.'

He stared down at his feet. 'I was hoping... I need closure. What he did ...'

'What he did was terrible, but when he shot those people, it was due to his own mental health issues, not yours. Your lack of parenting skills did not cause anyone to die.' She risked putting a hand on his shoulder, and for an infinitesimal moment, he leaned against her. 'One final thing. When the game stops, however it stops, there must be a period of time for me to comfort you. I can't have you escaping when your endorphins are still so high. You could come crashing down and that may be dangerous for your mental wellbeing. Do you accept that?'

He turned his head to look at her. 'Yes. My safe word is "red."' He nodded once, setting the word in stone. 'May we begin now?'

'Give me a few moments to get ready, and we can start right away.' She smiled as she rose from the bed.


	3. Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first game, where nerves give way to unadulterated pleasure and finally shame as Hanssen accepts his predilections. Then he has to decide whether or not the game will continue.
> 
> NB: This is not an entirely accurate representation of the BDSM lifestyle - just for fun...

The rules had been set out, and the game was in play. He had never felt so nervous about anything before. He spread out his hands before him, watching his fingers tremble, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply. _Stop. Stay calm. Why am I doing this again?_

To help him forget. That was the real reason. To forget all the people damaged and destroyed because he couldn't let himself be true to his emotions. To blank them out, just for a few moments, to hand over control to someone else, and be truly free...

That knowledge sent a shiver through him. He tried to analyse it and came back with ... what? He didn't recognise the feeling. It was alien to him. Fear he knew only too well. It was an old foe, but exhilaration, anticipation, if it could be called that, was something new.

Their previous conversation caused a cold sweat to break out on his back.

 

_'Where do you like to be touched?'_

_He stuttered, his face flushing. Any erudite response was beyond him. In the end, he could only gesture lamely and mutter, 'anywhere.'_

_God what an idiot he must look to her! An oversized stick insect with no redeeming features whatsoever. Yet her next question knocked him for six._

_'Would you like to experience sexual ecstasy, Mr. Hanssen?'_

_For a moment that seemed like a lifetime, he could only stare at her, slack-jawed. Her face was neutral, her tone calm. He imagined what it would be like, being encompassed in those warm arms, her breath on his face, the feel of her ..._

_Another nod, and a whispered, 'yes.'_

_Was it going to happen? How did he feel about that? He didn't know. Until that afternoon, he had no idea whether he had the courage to go to the house at all._

_'We'll start with some sensory deprivation and a little light flogging. Perhaps on the cross, if I believe you deserve it.'_

 

His stomach clenched at the thought of being bound on that implement of torture. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.

The door opened and Lady Gabrielle stepped through it. She was a vision in patent thigh-high boots and tight black mesh dress. Her naked body could clearly be seen underneath it, making him go hot and cold with longing. She had a bad boy's dream of a figure, curvy with full breasts and fat, prominent nipples. Her hair was now black and swinging freely in a smooth bob around her ears, and her eyes were fiercely painted with eyeliner, her lips a glossy red. In one hand was a riding crop, which she slapped gently into the palm of her other hand, all the while studying him.

With his height, it would have been easy to overpower her, but he would not have dreamed of doing any such thing. She radiated the ferocity of a lioness. The tip of the crop travelled from his forehead down the middle of his body, and tapped him lightly on the crotch, making him flinch. She smiled at his discomfort.

'Get on your knees.' Her voice was different to the one she had been using before. Harder, louder. It was impossible to disobey. He sank to his knees before her, his heart beating hard inside his chest.

She put the crop out of reach and carefully removed his glasses, putting them on a high shelf. His vision was fuzzy without them, but she looked just as beautiful and unattainable.

'It would be a shame to spoil this excellent suit,' she said, slipping his jacket off and hanging it on a wooden hanger. He held his breath as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed that as well, hanging it on the same hanger as the jacket. Next, she unknotted his tie, letting it slither from around his neck with a silken swish. And as he suspected she might, she placed the tie over his eyes and knotted it firmly at the back of his head, adjusting it so he had no hope of seeing anything. Without his sight, every other sense was gradually waking up to compensate. He heard her footsteps on the wooden floor, the sound of her breathing, and could smell the musky aroma of her body underneath the spicy perfume.

'Are you comfortable?'

'Yes.' "Comfortable" wasn't a word he would have used, with his knees protesting and a sudden, painful erection, but... A sharp blow made his buttocks clench. He bit back a moan.

'You address me as Mistress, you understand?'

'Yes, Mistress.' If his colleagues could see him now, they would die laughing at his expense, but even that thought wasn't enough to quench his arousal.

'Good.' She walked around him, occasionally giving him a tap with the riding crop. He had the feeling she was inspecting him like a prize bull at market. It was impossible to tell If he passed muster.

'You do as I say, when I say it, without hesitation, do you understand?'

'Yes, Mistress.'

'Very good. Get up.'

His knees were aching and it was a relief to stand up again. He scrambled inelegantly to his feet, hampered by not being able to see, and felt her guide him across the room. One of his hands was bound to a wooden contraption that he assumed was the St. Andrew's Cross. Then the other hand, bound with a thick leather strap. She kicked his feet apart and bound them as well. He had never felt so helpless before.

'Are you going to wriggle?'

He shook his head. 'No, I promise.' he despised the weakness in his voice.

The riding crop cracked against his buttocks. 'You forgot to call me Mistress. Any more transgressions, and I'll show you no mercy. Understood?'

'I'm sorry ... Mistress.' His backside was on fire, even through his suit trousers and underwear.

'I don't believe you.' The belt was fastened tightly around his waist. He could not move anything other than his hands and head. 'This is what happens when my subs disobey me.'

Something flat and flexible struck him on the meaty part of his buttocks, making them sting even more. He gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out. Without the benefit of sight, he had no idea when the next blow would come. The pain was dulling when she did it again. His harsh cry reverberated around the room. He hazily tried to recall the word to use when it got too much. Red, that was it. He wouldn't use it yet. It was too soon. She would think him weak and pathetic. He whimpered at the thought of displeasing her.

'Don't be a baby. I'm just tickling you.' Another blow, this time across the top of his buttocks. He grunted and bit his lip. That wasn't so bad. She wouldn't win. She could hit him all she liked and...

Another scorching blow, aimed beautifully to land on the site of the last one. She was timing them perfectly, just giving his body time to recover a little before hitting him again. This time he let out a guttural grunt.

'Stop,' he moaned, 'Don't ...'

'Don't stop? Very well.' She rained blows upon his back and buttocks, long, elegant strokes, not exceptionally hard, but enough to make his endorphins kick in. The pain became sweeter, more bearable. His nerve endings had lit up like a Christmas tree, relishing each assault. Just as he really began to enjoy it, she stopped again. He held his breath, waiting for her to begin again.

Instead, she untucked his shirt and ran her fingernails down his back, just harder than was comfortable. He tried to wriggle under her touch, but with the strap around his waist there was no escape.

'Hush,' she soothed him, doing it again, covering his whole back with a chequerboard of scratches. The soreness was quickly replaced by a hot glow, as if he had lain in the sun too long. When her hand slipped between his legs and and feathered upwards, he flinched like a virgin.

'No,' he stuttered as her fingers found his zipper and gently tugged it down. She purred as her hand worked inside his trousers and found what she was looking for. Her breath tickled his ear.

'Look at you, all turned on by Mistress's punishments. Do you want more?'

He couldn't speak, his whole being focussed on that warm hand. He was going to lose control if she didn't stop, and it was too soon. He wasn't ready...

'Your mistress is waiting for your answer.'

All thought processes had disappeared in a cloud of fog. He sagged against his bonds. Any attempt at speech had completely deserted him. Her hand was hot, teasing, and now her other hand was stroking the inside of his thigh. Oblivion beckoned. One more caress and he'd be over the edge.

The hand moved away, leaving him on the brink. As sanity returned, he knew what was expected of him. He turned his head towards her even though he was blinded by the silk over his eyes.

'Yes, Mistress. I want more.'

Smack. Rhythmic and relentless. His buttocks were on fire. As he was processing that, he heard a tearing sound as his shirt was ripped from tail to collar, exposing his pale skin to her mercy. At first, he felt something ice cold run down his spine. An ice cube, burning and freezing, pain and pleasure in a confusing, heady mix of sensation that made his body twist to try to escape. The uncomfortable sensations were followed by something warm and soft... He suppressed a moan when he realised it was her tongue, licking up the trail of ice water. The mental image lit fireworks in his imagination.

It was a shock when she began to hit him again, the paddle hitting his body with a satisfying thud. As the torture continued, he was aware of being drawn down into a dark rabbit hole where pain and pleasure became one.

'Please stop,' he whispered, knowing she wouldn't. She would only hit him harder. His back was burning from where she had scratched him. He could imagine it red and raw, the welts rising in tell-tale lines.

Then it all stopped, yet again. He could hear her breathing behind him, almost as if she was waiting, but for what, he couldn't guess. There was no other sound apart from soothing Beethoven. Which symphony? He tried to think, but his entire being was concentrated on the unseen woman, and what she had in store for him.

'I think you've had enough,' she said.

'No!' Surely she wasn't going to leave him like that, primed and desperate? 'Please, Mistress...'

She pressed up against him, her soft body scalding his damaged skin. 'What do you want, Mr. Hanssen?'

He couldn't say it. Even tied up and half-naked, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

'I need ... you to touch me,' he stuttered in the end.

'To touch you? You mean, like this?' She pinched his bottom. 'Or like this?' She ran her tongue down his spine. His head rolled back as he groaned in frustration. 'Or like this?' She tickled the crease between buttocks and thighs with something long and slender, then whacked him playfully with it.

He bit his lips to stop the unseemly sounds he was making, but it was no good. The blows continued, just hard enough to make his hips jolt forward against the unforgiving wood. The stimulation was exquisite, so much that he couldn't avoid the edge any longer. A strangled cry escaped him as he tumbled into the abyss, his whole body tensed against his restraints. He collapsed, exhausted, against the straps, breathing heavily as the aftershocks shook his body.

She forced his head back, strong fingers in his hair. He could feel her body pressed close to his back.

'You lost control,' she hissed. 'Now I'm going to punish you even more.'

He shook his head. 'No, please...' He tried to pull his mind back to the present. 'Red. Red!'

Immediately, she stepped away from him. He felt a monumental sense of relief as she unfastened the buckles and removed his tie from his eyes.

Her exertions had brought out a faint sheen of perspiration on her face and her cheeks were a little pink. She thrust a box of tissues at him.

'You did well, for your first time. When you've sorted yourself out, please lie down for a moment. On your front so I can treat your bruises.'

Her voice was back to normal again. It was almost terrifying, how quickly the change had occurred. He turned away from her as he mopped up the mess he had made of himself. He couldn't meet her eyes, sure they would be mocking him.

'I'd like to leave now.' It was all he could do not to run for the door. He grabbed for his jacket but she stopped him, her hand on his chest.

'I know, but you more than most people know the dangers of riding on an endorphin high if you're not used to it. Mr. Hanssen, look at me.'

He couldn't. His sense of shame was too great.

'Look at me, damn you!'

He started at the sharpness of her tone. Reluctantly, he met her gaze and knew she understood.

'It's okay,' she said gently. 'You just need to come down from that high in a controlled environment. I wouldn't be doing my job properly if I let you leave right now.' She led him to the bed and pushed him down upon it.

He lay stiffly on his back, tensing even more when she joined him. Already, his emotions were in freefall, making his throat thick and his eyes heavy. He turned away from her, embarrassed. She spooned her body around his and held him close as he gave in to deep, shuddering sobs of pain and confusion.

'What's wrong with me?' He whispered, when the storm had subsided.

'There's no shame in enjoying what we just did. What you're feeling is the inevitable downer, coupled with guilt. For a short time you felt completely free, but you don't think you deserve it.' She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 'You do deserve it. You totally deserve it.' Her fingers were in his hair, gently massaging his scalp, soothing and reassuring him. After a while, she peeled the tattered remnants of his shirt aside and began to massage fragrant oil into his back.

'It's a special mix of calendula, arnica and lavender to help you heal quickly,' she said when he asked what she was doing. It was a pleasant feeling so he let her continue.

'Do you do this with every client?'

'After-care is a vital part of the game, for both physical and mental reasons. It enables the client to face the outside world and feel a part of it, rather than walking in an alternate reality. Hush. Just relax and enjoy it.'

He regulated his breathing, seven counts in, eleven out, slow and steady, gradually allowing himself to let go of the tension in his body. Within the circle of her arms, he felt safe, comforted. Now he knew he could trust her to stop the game whenever he said the word, he could see an endless smorgasbord of possibilities.

That was if she thought he was worthy of her attentions.

'May I visit you again?' He asked, after a long silence.

She smiled against his shoulder. 'Of course. Whenever you wish to.'


	4. Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second session. Hanssen has returned to Lady Gabrielle, unable to keep away. The first session left him emotionally exhausted yet wanting more of the same, but he is unprepared for the new delights Gabrielle has in store for him.

'Have you completed the homework I set you?' She shut the door into the playroom.

'I have. It was very enlightening.' Hanssen seemed to fill the room despite his slim build. His height meant he had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. He handed over the form she had given him after their first assignment.

'Take off your jacket and sit down.'

Hanssen hung up his jacket on a hanger dangling from a hook on the wall. The soft light gleamed on the dark grey silk back of his waistcoat, and his shirt was crisp and freshly-laundered, with double cuffs held together with gold bar cufflinks. Gabrielle mused that it was rare to have a client so well presented. Even the fabulously rich ones seemed to have little idea how to dress properly. They tried at first but it inevitably went downhill, especially when she scolded them for it. They liked the punishment, but didn't appreciate her enjoyment of well-dressed men. She wondered what Hanssen wore in his spare time. Somehow, she couldn't imagine him any less than perfectly turned out.

He turned and saw her watching him. 'Is everything to your satisfaction?'

She allowed herself a small smile. 'You could say that. Not that you'll be dressed for long. Please.' She motioned to the chair behind him. It was a solid affair, with sturdy wooden arms and a high, slatted back. It didn't look that comfortable, but that wasn't its primary purpose.

Hanssen folded himself into it, shifted a little, and rested his hands on the arms. She took a moment to admire his shapely wrists and the way his long fingers curved around the turned ends of the chair arms. He was nervous but trying not to show it, his knuckles white under the thin skin.

Do you have any questions before we begin?'

'I had no idea there would be so much to discuss,' he admitted.

She pulled up a kitchen chair, spun it round to face him then straddled it, noting the way his gaze dropped to between her legs and back up to her face almost immediately. He looked like a guilty schoolboy. Obviously, her choice of clothing was approved of.

Gabrielle had dressed in one of her favourite outfits, white lace bra and panties under a super-short black mesh dress, and thigh-high black boots with ribbon lacing up the sides. It was comfortable, sexy, and gave the client tempting views of her underwear without looking too trashy. The men who requested crotchless knickers were thrashed and sent home without satisfaction. In the words of Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon, she was too old for that shit.

The room was peaceful, with soothing Brahms in the background. She read through the form he had completed whilst he waited, looking everywhere around the room except the space where she was. She could feel his discomfort from where she sat, and it was all focussed on that sweet spot between her thighs. No doubt he he had never been in such a position before, although he must have had fantasies, wet dreams, or sexual experiences of some sort in the past. She didn't get the feeling she was dealing with a total virgin.

'Is everything in order?' He asked eventually. She held up a peremptory finger to hush him. It was important she did not miss anything. He had dismissed any penetrative instruments out of hand, and had opted for the use of candles, the pinwheel, binding and blinding and had put a question mark next to "cupping." He was playing it fairly safe, which wasn't surprising. That first session had unnerved him with its intensity.

'You haven't mentioned my using the paddle or the flogger,' she said. 'Is that something you want to revisit in the future?'

'Possibly.' Hanssen's voice was careful. 'I don't know to feel about that.'

'This list can change. It isn't written in stone.'

'Then yes, I enjoyed it.'

'Good.' She made a note on the form.

'Isn't it rather clinical, having forms and suchlike? I didn't expect it to be like this.'

'What did you expect?'

'I don't know. Just something more spontaneous, I suppose.'

'If you want a quick fuck, go to the King's Road. Spontaneity is earned. In some ways, the first stages are similar to being treated in hospital. I need to have all the facts, just as you would with a patient. And you wouldn't perform a heart transplant without their consent, would you?'

'That really isn't ...'

'You know what I mean. Don't be obtuse, Mr. Hanssen.' She was aware of his glare as she checked over a couple of details on the form. 'We'll run through this again, so you're absolutely aware of...'

'Please don't. I'd rather just begin before I change my mind all together.'

'You're not going to change your mind. You want it too much. I can almost taste it on you.' She licked her lips, noting with satisfaction the tiny shudder that simple action wrought in him. 'You need to be honest with yourself about what it is you really want. Only then will you truly benefit from my services." 

She rose from the chair and put it to one side, then knelt at his feet to unfasten his shoes. They were beautifully tooled black leather, obviously handmade to accommodate his long, narrow feet. She peeled off his socks and tucked them in the shoes, putting them to one side,

"Please strip down to your underwear. You may keep your shirt on if you feel more comfortable that way. I trust you brought spare underwear for when you leave?"

He nodded briefly. It seemed the practicalities of his session were a somewhat distasteful necessity to him. He took off his clothes and hung them carefully on the hanger she provided. His demeanour was ill-at-ease as he sat in the chair, but when she shackled his ankles to the chair legs, forcing his legs apart, he looked positively alarmed.

'Why are you doing that?'

'Don't worry. If I was being really cruel, I'd shackle your legs together. That might still happen if you misbehave.'

'That sounds preferable,' he said, half-jokingly.

'Believe me, it isn't.' She leaned over him so he was forced to look up at her face, her breasts mere inches from his chin. 'Just imagine having a painful erection and no way of releasing it. The frustration is unbearable, and I can make that torment last for hours. It's even worse for you if you can't see."

'Don't blindfold me. I want to watch you.'

That earned him a light slap on the cheek.

'I decide whether or not you can see me. As you're new, I'll let that transgression slide, but if you're bad, the blindfold goes on.' She undid the first three buttons on his shirt and reached for a steel circular collar, the hinge of which was hidden by a ball. She placed the collar around his neck, positioning the ball at the nape of his neck.

'That does look pretty. How does it feel?'

He swallowed hard. 'Heavy and very peculiar. Not altogether unpleasant.'

'Good.' She threaded a chain through the collar and fastened it to the middle slat in the chair behind him. He tensed as he felt the constriction of movement. 'How about now?'

'It's pressing against my throat. Is it safe?'

'That's the idea. Oxygen deprivation enhances sexual stimulation. Remember your safe word if it gets too much.'

He nodded carefully, looking not altogether convinced.

'Trust me, Mr. Hanssen, when I say you'll enjoy it. And don't worry. As you won't let me butt-fuck you, this is as extreme as this session will get.'

'Can you please not talk that way? I don't care for it.'

Rather than being irritated with him, she was annoyed with herself for forgetting one of her primary questions. 'Are there other words you would rather I did not use? It's perfectly acceptable to say so.'

A flicker of relief flashed across Hanssen's face. 'I don't want this to feel ... sordid. I just want ...'

She sensed his inner struggle. Each client was unique, but Hanssen was in a class of his own.

'Help me to understand you,' she said. 'No obscene language is no problem. If you want me to be rough with you, I will be, but equally, if you want me to be gentle, I can do that too. I'm guided by you. You're in control.'

He relaxed visibly. 'Thank you.'

 

'If that is all for now, we shall begin.'

******

'It isn't all about pain. A lot of it is about anticipation.' Gabrielle strolled behind the chair slapping the whip gently against her booted thigh. He shuddered at her words and swallowed deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing. She stroked the tip of the whip against it, then trailed the crop down his body, stroking it between his spread legs. He quivered at the sensation, making a sound between a whimper and a strangled groan as she feathered the whip across his groin. Her practiced eye told her he was enjoying the experience more than he seemed to be. Another light tap and he gasped again, his eyes showing panic and pleasure in equal measure.

And they'd barely got started.

She knelt in front of him and place her hands on his knees. The fine suit trousers let him feel every touch as she walked her fingers up his legs, paused teasingly near his trouser button then continued to unfasten the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. The layers were peeled away, revealing an attractive body, lean and lightly smattered with dark, silky hair. She stood back to admire him for a moment. He looked devastating with his clothes in disarray. For a dangerous moment she was tempted to clamber on his lap and thrust her tongue down his throat, but that would have broken every rule she set for herself.

"Please undress down to your underwear. You may keep your shirt on." She struggled to keep her voice steady. "I trust you've brought what you need to go home with?"

"Of course." He sounded formal again

No. That was impossible. She could not allow herself to get distracted. It was time to get back to work. From the bedside cabinet she took out her Wartenberg Wheel, a wicked little implement with spikes around the outside. Depending on the pressure used, it could be a delightful sensation or pure torture. She showed it to him, sending the small wheel into a spin.

'Ever used one of these?'

'Not exactly for this purpose, no.'

She picked up his tie. 'Time for blackout.'

'No! Let me see. Please...'

It was too late. The tie was firmly in place, blocking his vision.

'This is sensory play, Mr. Hanssen. By taking away your sight and your ability to move, all your other senses are enhanced.' She let her fingers drift under his nose. He turned his head towards the scent of her body, then tried to capture the tips of her fingers with his lips. She let them rest for a tantalising moment before moving away.

'Be gentle with that thing. Those spikes are sharp.'

'You want me to gag you as well?'

He kept quiet, at least until the wheel travelled down the length of his torso, stopping at his navel. He groaned and uselessly tried to shift away. She ran the wheel over his stomach and tacked diagonal lines up his body, narrowly avoiding his nipples. Even so, they stiffened into endearing pink peaks.

'Tell me what it's used for,' she said conversationally.

'It's ...' Any reasonable thought had obviously deserted him. She ran the instrument slowly down the centre of his chest. 'It's used for neuro....logical...' he paused as the wheel traversed his stomach. 'To test for ...'

'Test for what?' She circled the instrument around one nipple, seeing him flinch.

'Nerves,' he stuttered. 'Nerve reactions.' His breath caught as she lightly grazed one peak with the sharply pointed wheel. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his whole body rigid.

'Hush.' She put the wheel to one side and stroked a mink glove over his stimulated nerve endings. When he had relaxed again, she placed a silicone sucker over each nipple, then pinched them hard. Instantly, his back arched and he made a low sound that could have been pleasure or pain.

'What are you doing?'

'These stimulate blood to rise to the surface, giving you lovely erect nipples.' She gave them another squeeze, then waited, stroking him with the fur glove. When she gently removed the sucker off one of them, his nipple was twice the size it was. She quickly attached a sponge-tipped nipple clamp, then did the same with the other one, the two clamps attached to each other with a silver chain.

'It hurts!'

'It'll calm down in a moment.' She gave one of the clamps a gentle flick, causing him to cry out, then soothed him with the mink glove, occasionally catching the chain between the nipple clamps to remind him they were there. He began to thrash about as far as his shackles would allow him to. The chain holding his neck to the chair tightened, the ball at his throat pressing against his windpipe. He gasped for air, his chest heaving.

'Remember your safe word if you've had enough,' she reminded him.

'No!' He strained against his bonds, breathing heavily and muttering in his native Swedish. No doubt he was calling her every obscene name under the sun, but from the ridge in his underpants, this new experience was very popular indeed. Kinky bastard, she thought, smiling. It was always the quiet ones who surprised her. She had thrown more at him than she would normally do, sensing he could take it. And he had, in spades.

Another few strokes with the mink glove to lull him into a false sense of security, then some added stimulation with an ice cube. He gritted his teeth but gave in to a loud hiss when her hot tongue lapped up the ice cold water trickling down to his stomach. His buttocks lifted off the seat as his body yearned towards her tongue.

'Say it, Mr. Hanssen,' she whispered against his skin. 'What is it you need?'

It was the ultimate torment, because she knew he wouldn't, or couldn't tell her. The words had never passed his lips before. She knew exactly what it was he was desperate for, but unless he said the words, he would have to wait. A frustrated sound tore from his lips as she moved away and the moment was lost.

"Evil cunt," he spat.

He was on the edge of sanity, to come out with something like that. She smiled to herself but kept her voice stern. 'That isn't polite at all, Mr. Hanssen. You need to be gagged.'

'No! I'm sorry. I'm ...' He tried to move away as she placed a rubber strap between his teeth, but she was experienced enough to tie the gag before he really knew anything about it. He roared uselessly behind the gag as she sat astride him, then quieted down as he felt her heat pressed against his erection.

'That's it. Hush,' she soothed him. His chest rose and fell. It was almost as if he dared not move. She gently removed the clamps, letting the blood rush back into his nipples. He gave a low groan as the sensation began to hit. His nipples were stiff and turning a deep pink. She leaned over to lick, then blow upon the over-sensitised tips, cooling them with her breath. His hips lifted as he tried to thrust against her.

She moved away and stood quietly again. He looked around, even though the blindfold was firmly in place, and whimpered behind the gag. Quietly, she walked behind him, took and ice cube and gently wiped it over one of his nipples. As his breathing quickened she loosened the gag, allowing him to take in more air. He was right on the edge, uttering staccato curses in his native Swedish.

"Please..." 

She slapped the flogger over his groin. "Please, what?"

"Mistress... please!"

She slapped him again, harder this time. 

"Sit on me. I want to feel you..."

"Well, aren't you bossy?" She slapped him once more, harder still, watching how his jaw tightened, the cords on his neck prominent against the collar. "Maybe I'll be kind to you, because you're new."

He licked his lips, almost as if in anticipation. "Thank you, Mistress."

After a moment she settled herself on his lap, letting him feel her heat against his groin. 

"Can you remember what I'm wearing, Mr. Hanssen?" Her voice was like silk in his ear. 

"Yes," he panted immediately. "White ... panties."

She undulated against him, a sinuous movement that made him breath harder. 

"That feels incredible. Thank you, Mistress. Thank... no!" As she moved off his lap again. She placed her palm over the bulge in his groin and palpated it gently. 

Too stunned to resist, he lost control, throbbing against her fingers. His back arched as he sought to draw out the sensation before he sagged, exhausted and slick with perspiration, the pale skin on his neck stained red.

After a moment of rest, she unfastened the chain around his neck. The shackles were next, and then the handcuffs. Finally, she removed his tie from his eyes. He blinked and stumbled to the bathroom without meeting her gaze, and locked himself in.

This was always the trickiest moment, when she had to persuade him to take some time, to be held and comforted. Out of everything, he had found that the hardest thing of all to cope with, the first time he had come to her.

But this time was different. He joined her on the bed, allowed her to draw him into her arms and pull the velvet throw over them both. The tension gradually seeped away from him as his eyes closed. She held him for as long as she dared, before reluctantly waking him and sending him on his way.


	5. Transgression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanssen is distracted by thoughts of Lady Gabrielle but his attempts to find out more about her hit a brick wall. Meanwhile, Serena Campbell knows something is up, and tries to find out the truth.

'Mr. Hanssen?'

_Mistress smiled evilly as she ran the Wartenburg Wheel over his sensitive flesh. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes..._

'Mr. Hanssen? Henrik!'

Hanssen was jolted out of his reverie. Serena stood in front of him, hands on hips.

'Where on earth were you? And can I have some of what you're having?'

'I'm sorry?'

'You looked like you had seen an angel.' Serena cast a gimlet gaze around the AAU ward. 'None in here today, I'm afraid. Mr. Miller in Bay 2. Penis enlargement done overseas gone horribly wrong, and in Bay 3 we have a patient threatening to sue because her husband's vasectomy failed. She came in with stomach pains and we've just informed her she's pregnant.' She handed him the notes. 'She's charm personified. Zav is with her now. He's rather out of his depth.'

Down the corridor, a shrill voice could be heard shouting, 'so you're saying I'm a slag?'

'Oh, and Sanders is on the prowl. He wants to discuss the AAU Clinical Director role with you.'

'I shall look forward to that with undiluted pleasure.' Hanssen raised a sardonic eyebrow as he walked away.

Later that afternoon, he was in his office, checking Oliver Valentine's medical records, when the door opened. Only one person came in without knocking and that was John Sanders, Chairman Of The Board. Sanders wore that oily smile he only employed when he wanted something, or was about to impart bad news.

'I've found a new Clinical Director for AAU. She'll be coming in on Monday so Bernie can hand over.'

Hanssen didn't reply immediately. He leaned back in his chair and regarded his unwelcome visitor. 'The position has already been filled. Mr. Valentine has accepted the role and no handover will be required when the time comes. For the future, if you have a candidate for me to consider, it would be helpful for you to pass her details through the appropriate channels.'

'With respect, Henrik, Valentine isn't up to the job. This doctor has many years experience and ...'

'You know her personally?'

'I'm not sure what that has to do with...'

'Mr. Valentine has been given clearance to return to non-surgical duties and I have no intention of withdrawing our offer. If you pass your acquaintance's resume to my PA, I'll surely consider her for a future role, if appropriate.' Hanssen picked up his ink pen, indicating the conversation was over.

'How's Lady Gabrielle?'

Hanssen's pen hovered over the notepad. 'I believe she's well and recovered from her injuries.'

Sanders scooted into the chair opposite Hanssen's desk. 'She's hot, isn't she? Does she scratch your itch like she scratched mine?'

Hanssen gave him a level look. It was hard not to let the revulsion he felt for the man show on his face.

'I'm not sure what you're hoping to achieve with this, but I won't be changing my mind about Mr. Valentine.'

Sanders' smile was unpleasant. 'Fair enough, but I'd be careful, if I were you, Hanssen. It's lonely at the top, isn't it? And let's face it, I don't suppose you need any more scandals right now.'

'Neither do you. Good day, Mr. Sanders.' Hanssen kept his face neutral.

When he was alone, he opened his wallet and took out Lady Gabrielle's card. After a few moments, he picked up the phone. She answered immediately.

 

*******

 

_In the darkness of his Mistress's playroom, the cares of the outside world ceased to exist. His whole focus was on the woman wielding a black leather flogger. He was tied firmly to the diagonal cross, facing outwards towards her, clothing in disarray. He had lost all track of time. She had brought him to the edge of ecstasy more times than he could count and now he knew the true definition of desperation._

_She slapped the flogger across her palm. looking exotic in a skin-tight catsuit and black carnival mask covering her eyes. He could not help staring at her lips, so ripe and red, and the way her tongue travelled across them as she contemplated her next move._

_When it came, he wasn't ready for it. She punished his already abused body with another blow, then another. He was moving into that altered state of consciousness, where pleasure and pain became one. He couldn't help the sounds dripping from his lips. They were guttural, nonsensical, his thoughts like soup. His head rolled back as she hit him again, this time right across the groin. Through his clothes, the sensation was intensely erotic, edged with discomfort. She did it again, harder, correctly gauging he was about to lose control. One more blow..._

_He felt her leather-clad fingers around his throat, gently putting pressure on his carotid artery. He had taught her how much pressure to apply, to heighten that sense of powerlessness. Now she was a master at it. He whimpered loudly, wanting her to continue with the flogger. He was close. So, so close...._

_'Hush. You're making too much noise. You want me to gag you?'_

_He rapidly shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Mistress.'_

_Keeping her hand where it was, she slapped the flogger hard against his lower stomach. Stray strands licked at his sensitive flesh._

_'Please....' he moaned. 'Finish it. Please, Mistress...'_

_And she did, flogging him steadily until he spun out, his body convulsing against the bonds..._

For a few days, he had been thinking about the question he wanted to ask her. She had limits, ones she had talked about before, but she hadn't mentioned anything about joining him for dinner one evening.

At first, the thought of kissing her had been as remote as Jupiter, but recently he had been thinking about it more often than he should. As for actual intercourse, that hadn't happened either. The way she teased him had been enough to finish him off. The last couple of times, he had begged her to use more than her hands, but all she did was torture him even more.

But it was worth it for the time they spent curled together in the afterglow, on the bed that had become his favourite place on the planet, though he was troubled by thoughts of the other men she spent time with there.

To compensate, he asked her to leave scars so he could be reminded of her. It was wrong. It was unhealthy. Perhaps he should discuss it with his counsellor, who would inveritably suggest that the feelings he was projecting onto Gabrielle were compensating for the love he could never show his family.

It was nonsense, of course. He knew the difference between love for one's blood family and erotic love. Yet his feelings for Gabrielle were evolving, becoming deeper. He couldn't get her out of his head.

He recognised the signs. She occupied his thoughts whenever his focus wasn't pulled away by work. He lay in his lonely bed at night imagining scenarios where they would spend more time together. It was a slippery path. He knew it, yet he could not stop.

It was the start of an obsession.

She had been spending more time on what she referred to as "after-care," and he knew it wasn't just his fevered imagination. He wondered how many secrets she harboured, and if other men had given her their hearts, only to have them cruelly broken.

'Do you ever meet your clients away from here?' He asked. It was a practised move, rehearsed in his mind many times.

'As Mistress and sub? Never. Most men are high-profile. They don't want to be seen with someone like me.' She did not seem bothered by the fact.

'Don't you ever want a real relationship? Someone to love you? Don't you feel terribly alone?'

She moved to face him. 'You shouldn't be asking me this. You're my client.'

He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. 'I'd like to know.'

'You don't need to know anything about me. You come here and we play. You pay me afterwards. That's it. Would you ask your dentist these questions, or your doctor?'

'You're far more interesting than they are.'

'I'm no different. I provide a service, that's all. You would be wise to remember that.' She swung her legs off the bed. 'You need to leave now, Mr. Hanssen.'

'I'd like to take you out for dinner, if you're happy for me to do so.' Even as he was saying it, he knew the answer. She perched on the bed, not looking at him.

'It isn't possible.'

'Why not? Do you have someone?'

Still she would not look at him. 'I'm no good for you and you're no good for me. It's better this way.'

'How do you mean?'

'This conversation is over. I'd like you to leave now.'

When he did not move, she forced him to look into her eyes and said a single word.

'Red.'

 

*******

 

A storm was coming. She could see it in the distance, big white clouds piling up over a thick line of grey stratus, threatening to end the tenuous hold that summer was trying to establish.

But right then, the temperature was still warm, and her washing was dry. So far, the weekend had been pleasantly spent in the garden, plucking errant weeds from her flower-filled beds. She only worked during the week, and it was a relief not to wear skin-tight latex, which was definitely overrated during the summer months.

That morning she had put on the same light summer dress she had worn the day previously. She was on her own so it didn't matter about the grass stains or slight scuffs of mud. Her feet were bare as she gathered the dry sheets from the line, keeping one eye on the approaching weather front. An hour at the most and it would be very different. At least that meant she didn't have to water the pots.

A car door slammed somewhere close by, but she ignored it, thinking it had to be the neighbours. She wasn't expecting anyone. Her socialising was mostly done during the week. At weekends, it was sometimes good to be alone.

'Gabrielle?'

She turned, and was instantly alarmed. Henrik Hanssen was standing on the patio, watching her. Even in casual dress, he looked immaculate, with dark chinos and his linen shirt carefully pressed. She glanced down at his feet. Leather sandals. No socks.

_Thank Christ for that._

'What are you doing here?' The question came out more abruptly than she intended, but seeing him was a shock. She had no make-up on, her hair was unwashed and she was wearing her gardening dress. It was hardly the best way to meet clients.

'It's all right.' His hands came up as if gentling a horse. 'I didn't mean to startle you.'

'Lady Gabrielle is seeing you on Tuesday.' She didn't want him to see her looking so .... ordinary. 'You shouldn't be here. Why did you come?'

At last, he could see she was really unnerved. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's a beautiful afternoon. I was planning to walk along the river and visit one of the hostelries along the way to sample a pint of ale. I was wondering whether you'd join me.'

She regarded him carefully. He had broken all the rules she meticulously set out for him, every time they met. He didn't seem a disingenuous man, but perhaps she was wrong.

'You're a client. I don't socialise with clients. I thought you knew that.'

'I do,' he was equally serious.

'So you'll know that if I have a drink with you, the game is over. I can no longer see you on a professional basis. The game has only really begun. Why would you jeopardise it now?'

Thunder rolled in the distance. The clouds had drawn nearer, darkening the sky over the hills.

'I just thought ...'

She stepped towards him, the laundry basket balanced on her hip. 'That you would befriend me, then fuck me, and get your kicks for free?' She made her words deliberately ugly.

'No!' His voice made her jump. 'If you thought that of me, why did you take me on?'

'I knew I could trust you not to physically hurt me, but I'm under no illusions about men, Mr. Hanssen. In the end, they all want the same thing, and they'd rather not have to pay for it. Go home. It'll be raining soon.' She walked past him towards the house.

'I'm not like that,' he said as she passed him. 'Gabrielle...'

'My name's not Gabrielle. It's Susan.' She firmly closed the door, shutting him out.

A few moments later, she heard his car start and pull away. Why had she said that? She never told clients her real name. It was the strict rule she had adhered to since the first time she began receiving clients, eight years before. They were allowed in her drawing room and her basement, but everywhere else in the house was out of bounds. And so were her personal details, including her real name.

What was it about Hanssen that had made her break one of her golden rules?

 

******

 

He did not call Gabrielle for two weeks, thinking it was wise to let some time pass before he asked to see her again. If he understood it right, she had given him a clear choice. Be a client, or be a friend. But he couldn't be both.

It shocked him how much he was struggling with that choice. He had never particularly thought of himself as a sensual man. Everything pertaining to pleasure had been suppressed for so long. As for friendship, he knew he would not be satisfied with a platonic relationship with Gabrielle, or Susan, as she was in real life.

That night he was with Serena at a restaurant on the other side of town from the hospital. It had been Serena's suggestion, as she had something to talk about. Hanssen assumed it was to do with Bernie, who would shortly be leaving for Capetown.

'She'll only be gone six months, and I can fly out whenever holiday times allow. I'll miss her, though.'

'Of course, you will. It's a long time to be apart from anyone.'

As they chose from the menu, Hanssen knew there was something else on Serena's mind. They knew each other well enough that their relationship went beyond the hospital walls and had developed into true friendship.

'What is it?' He asked, after yet another inconsequential comment.

The waiter arrived to take their order. When he had gone, Serena got down to business.

'How's Miss Whiplash?'

'I'd be grateful if you didn't call her that.' It had been a risk, telling Serena the truth. More than once, he had regretted doing it. Not because he believed she would be indiscreet, but because of the gentle ribbing she had subjected him to since then.

'Sorry, I meant Lady Gabrielle. Are you still seeing her?'

'I will be, if she agrees to it,' he replied carefully. He had not told her about his abortive visit to see Gabrielle two Sundays previously.

'Do you have any idea what will happen if this gets out? They'll slaughter you, Henrik. Any excuse, and Sanders will do it, with the more humiliation the better. Can you imagine what a field day the papers would have with this?'

'I can't see how...'

'Oh, surely you're not that naive. The CEO of Holby General having a relationship with a dominatrix? Really?'

'I thought you'd understand.'

She grasped his hand. 'I do, Henrik. God knows, I do. I thought my relationship with Bernie would cause enough conniptions, which it did. It fades, but this is on a different level. I'm sorry, but you could have chosen someone a little more ...' Her voice faded as he looked at her. 'Oh God. You're in love with her, aren't you?'


	6. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Serena attempts to find out what Lady Gabrielle's intentions are towards Hanssen. Between her and Jordan, Gabrielle finds out some disturbing truths about herself.

Lady Gabrielle tucked the last few stray blonde hairs under the sleek black wig and critically examined her reflection. Her visitor was due in fifteen minutes and she had to admit, she was curious. It wasn't often women approached her. When they had, they came with their partners, wanting her to watch whilst they had vanilla sex. She always refused, as it would always be a one-shot deal. She had yet to meet a couple interested in a long-term business relationship.

'Stop fidgeting,' Jordan complained as he tilted her face towards him. He drew a practiced bow across her top lip with lip liner, then the bottom, before selecting the lip brush to fill in her lips with colour.

'I can do this myself,' Gabrielle said.

'Hush. It's good practice for me. You're my living doll,' Jordan said, grinning. They looked at their reflections in the mirror. 'Gorgeous. I think your Kim Novak is my favourite.'

She squeezed his hand. 'I don't know what I would do without you. I'd never look this good, that's for sure.'

A slight shadow passed over his face, but he masked it almost instantly with a bright smile.

'I'll let you know when she's here.'

As he left, Gabrielle thought about her imminent guest, Serena Campbell. The name rang a bell, but she couldn't for the life of her think why. She reached for her phone, intending to Google her name. Surely that might elicit some results.

Jordan stuck his head around the door as she picked up the phone. 'She's here already.'

Gabrielle glanced at the Jacobean carriage clock on her bedside table. 'She's early, isn't she?'

'Not really. I keep forgetting that old thing is ten minutes slow.' Jordan eased into the room and brushed a speck of lint off the shoulder of her fitted 1950's jacket. 'Stand up. Let's have a look.' He tilted his head. 'Fabulous, darling. I've put her in the drawing room. Go slay her.'

Serena Campbell had made herself comfortable in wing-backed chair Gabrielle usually sat in. She was a handsome woman, with cropped dark hair highlighted with silver, and a square jaw. She had good breeding, her sturdy body complimented by shapely legs turned and crossed at the ankle. By her side was an understated burgundy Mulberry handbag, which must have set her back at least £1,500.

She looked up as Gabrielle entered the room, but did not rise. There was a sense of propriety about her, as if Gabrielle were her guest, not the other way around.

'Good afternoon, Mrs. Campbell,' Gabrielle greeted her formally.

'Oh please, call me Serena.' The woman's voice was cultured as well. Gabrielle felt her interest spike. There was definitely a reason why she looked and sounded so familiar.

'May I offer you some tea?'

'I only drink jasmine. I don't suppose you have that. Not many people do.'

On cue, Jordan entered the room. 'Jasmine tea for two, please,' Gabrielle said.

'Yes, Lady Gabrielle.' He promptly left again, his serious face firmly in place.

'No milk,' Serena called after him.

'Jordan is aware of that. I've trained him well.'

'How very civilised,' Serena murmured. The comment seemed to have a bit of an edge to it.

Gabrielle decided it was time to get down to business. Serena did not seem like the type of woman happy to chit-chat about irrelevant subjects.

'What can I help you with, Mrs. Campbell?'

'It's Campbell-Wolfe. My wife and I were married six months ago.'

That threw Gabrielle off-balance but she tried not to show it. Being lesbian wasn't the issue. Being newly married definitely could be.

'Congratulations. Now I'm even more curious. I've never been approached by newly-weds before. Does Mrs. Wolfe know you've come to see me?'

'She does, yes, and she's very happy for me to do so.' Serena looked around the room. 'You have a beautiful house. How long have you been doing this?'

Something about the woman made Gabrielle uneasy. She wasn't behaving in the usual way. She was accustomed to nerves, inappropriate comments, blustering, but this was almost like a fact-finding mission.

Jordan came in, bearing a tray laden with a china teapot, cups and saucers, and a plate of macarons. He placed it carefully on the table and poured fragrant tea into the two dainty cups.

'Thank you, Jordan.' Gabrielle picked up one cup and saucer and held it out to Serena, who took it graciously. 'What is it you think I do?' Her eyes met Serena's over the bone china.

Serena smiled. 'That's what I'm trying to find out.'

'Why, exactly? Does married life not agree with you?'

'Why would you think that?'

'It doesn't suit everyone. It usually takes more than six months to find that out, though.'

'My wife and I are very happy together.'

'So why are you here? Are you a detective, wanting to prove I run a place of ill-repute?' She affected a playful tone. I'm onto you, it implied.

'No, I'm not a detective.'

'You're not a journalist either. Not with that Mulberry handbag. Did a mutual acquaintance tell you about me?' When Serena's eyes narrowed, Gabrielle knew she had hit the mark. 'And you want to know whether he's in danger of ruining his career. This is an intervention, isn't it, Mrs. Campbell-Wolfe?' It was a punt, but Serena sat back in her chair and stared at her.

'How on earth...?'

'I've had eight years of dealing with captains of industry. For my own protection, I've learned the art of being astute. More tea?'

'Good lord,' Serena murmured, and meekly held out her cup and saucer.

'Now we're both on the same page, we can talk properly, although you appreciate, this is most irregular, and individual cases can't be discussed.'

'Rather like patient confidentiality,' Serena added.

Yes, that was it. Holby Hospital. Gabrielle knew she had seen the name somewhere. 'Indeed. I'm not going to discuss any of my clients with you, especially our mutual acquaintance.'

'He trusts me,' Serena protested.

'Does he know you're here?'

'No ...'

'How much do you think he would trust you if he knew you came? I can imagine he would be appalled.'

Serena leaned forward in her chair. 'I'm trying to protect him.'

'From what, exactly? Selling his secrets to the press? If I did that, I'd lose my clients overnight and never work to the same level again. Please credit me with some intelligence.' Gabrielle let her words hang between them.

Serena broke the silence. 'I admit, I'm impressed. I wasn't expecting anything quite as ...' She looked around the room. '... tasteful.'

'I'll take that as a compliment,' Gabrielle said drily. 'Is there any other way I can reassure you I am above board? Would you like to see my playroom?'

Serena shuddered. 'No thank you. It's difficult enough to imagine him being here in the first place. No offence intended.'

'None taken. You've no need to worry. I won't be seeing him again.'

Serena's eyes widened in shock. 'Really? Why on earth not?'

It was Gabrielle's turn to be unnerved. She stared at her. 'I'm sorry?'

'Please don't tell me you've just decided this because of me.'

'No, it was something I decided before now. Would you care to explain?'

'He's been a lot more human recently. And believe me, it's about time. I presume you know some of his background?'

Gabrielle nodded. 'I do, but he broke my rules, Mrs. Campbell-Wolfe. I can't allow that.'

'He broke your rules? Isn't that rather harsh?'

For a long moment, neither of them spoke as Gabrielle tried to untangle her thoughts into some kind of order. To her credit, Serena waited in silence for her to speak.

'When clients come to me, their needs can mean they form some kind of attachment. I've had proposals of marriage before now. One sends me three dozen red roses every Valentines Day. He's done it for the last five years. Another persists in asking me to go on vacation with him and pretend to be his wife, and all because four times a year I tie him up and throw sushi at him. I tell them all the same thing. Absolutely not. I'm the fantasy they pay for. They visit, we play and they go home. I don't form attachments to any of these men because to do so would be ultimately destructive to our business relationship. You do understand what I'm saying?'

'Of course, but....'

'What happens in the playroom is not reality. Hanssen knows that yet he wilfully flouted the conditions of the game. Discipline on both sides is key.'

Serena's cup paused at her lips. 'So you're saying you wouldn't have any compunction in seeing him again if you didn't have feelings for him. He isn't the only one whose broken the rules, is he?' She looked slightly smug as she helped herself to another macaron.

'You're very perceptive, Mrs. Campbell-Wolfe.' Gabrielle watched her, respect fighting with irritation.

'Is it such a terrible thing, if two people have feelings for each other?' Serena asked gently.

'My work is hardly compatible with romance.'

'Surely there's something else you can do? I can't imagine you want to indulge the fantasies of entitled businessmen for the next ten years. I know I wouldn't. What on earth made you start doing this, anyway? It just seems ...' Serena squirmed. 'a unsavoury way to make money. Of course, if there are historical reasons...'

Gabrielle smiled tolerantly. 'Come now, Serena, put your judgement hat away. You should know better than that. No doubt you're thinking I do this because of some ancient wrong done to me by a man, and as a result, I hate all men and want to punish them. That's bullshit. I do it because I'm good at it, and because I can offer comfort to people in need. When my husband died a few years back, I inherited this house. My work means I can live comfortably and independently.'

'You never thought of meeting someone? Possibly getting married again?'

Gabrielle laughed. 'No, I've never met anyone I wish to spend that much time with. Or anyone I would be happy to relinquish control to, even for a few moments. If I allow myself to fall in love with a man whose heap of emotional baggage is higher than the Shard, it will only end in disaster, believe me.'

'If you say so.' Serena's voice was diffident, but her eyes were sad.

'I don't understand what it is you want from me. I thought you came here to warn me about causing him professional damage.'

Serena rose from her chair. 'I admit, that was my intention. He's a good friend, Lady Gabrielle. I care about him. I trust this conversation will remain between us?'

'Of course. Client confidentiality is something I take very seriously, Mrs. Campbell-Wolfe.' Gabrielle held out her hand and Serena shook it, her handshake firm and decisive.

On cue, Jordan appeared at the door.

'Just think about what I said,' Serena added, as she walked out of the door.

******

She went back up to her bedroom, stripped off the constrictive business suit and wig, and pulled on a summer dress more suitable for the temperature and her everyday self. Barefoot, she padded downstairs to the patio. Jordan was one one of the loungers, sipping at a tropical cocktail loaded with fruit.

'I've made you one as well. One of my Jordan specials,' he said, as she took the lounger next to his. 'Well? What did you think of the divine Ms. Campbell-Wolfe?'

'An inveterate snob,' Gabrielle replied promptly. 'I liked her.'

'She wasn't here for your services, was she? Let me guess...'

'You know already. Don't play games. You know I don't like it.'

'Oh, the irony of that statement.' He sat up and looked at her over his sunglasses. 'And I don't like you looking so damned miserable. Darling, you haven't seen any clients for weeks. If you want to give up and find some fun, then go for it. You don't owe anyone a damned thing. Quite frankly, I don't see what the problem is ...'

'He's damaged goods. That's what the problem is.'

'So was I, but you took me in, gave me a job, set me back on my feet. You had the patience of a saint with me. What's the difference? Oh no, wait. I've got it. You don't actually want to fuck me, but you want to do him until he sees stars. Say it ain't so.'

'Go fuck yourself.' Gabrielle closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. 'The difference is, I've accepted that one day, you'll leave. When you're ready, you'll move on and I want that for you, more than anything. But I can't bear ....' She looked over at him again. 'When David died, my world fell apart. I didn't know how I was going to cope. I'm not sure I can go through that again.'

Jordan shrugged. 'Fine. I guess it's a lot safer being miserable all the time, rather than risking happiness in the knowledge that it might all end. I mean, it isn't what I'd choose but it's your life. You can do what you like.' He lay back and closed his eyes.

Gabrielle lay back as well, letting the summer sun warm her limbs. 'Bastard,' she muttered.

Beside her, Jordan smiled.

******

Eventually, Hanssen called her. She wasn't sure whether he would after their last meeting. Perhaps Serena had persuaded him to. Gabrielle didn't want to think about that. Her opinion of Serena veered from interfering bitch to unexpected ally. It would be wise to remember that she had Hanssen's best interests at heart, not Gabrielle's.

When had this become like some kind of teenage love crisis? She tried to force the thought down as she prepared for his visit. It should have been easy. Dress in the clothes, the hair, the makeup, run through the routine then do it.

Simple.

No. He had ruined everything. So much so that she hadn't seen any clients for weeks, just as Jordan had said. Just like that, she had lost the taste for it.

And it wasn't as if she needed the money anymore, a small voice kept reminding her. She was a woman of means. The only thing missing in her life was....

_Stop, stop, stop! Deep breaths. Calm down._

She was a mess and she didn't know why.

'What's wrong with me?' She asked Jordan as he zipped up her cat suit at the back. 'This damned thing. I can't breathe!'

'Shh, it's okay.' Jordan circled her in his muscular arms. 'You know what I think? You're nervous of seeing him because he's got under your skin. That tall, skinny surgeon has you under his spell and now you're afraid of fucking up. Just remember, you're a goddess to him. You can do no wrong.'

'I'm a goddess. I can do no wrong,' Gabrielle repeated. She regulated her breathing, feeling her heartbeat return to something like normal. 'I don't understand why I feel so strange. This outfit isn't right. Nothing feels right anymore.'

Jordan considered for a moment. 'Okay. How about you take all this off and just dress as you would for a first date? And possibly suggest that instead of going to the playroom, you go out for a drink?'

She stared at him in the mirror. 'That's a terrible idea.'

'Sweetheart, have I ever been wrong before?' He skipped to her wardrobe and began riffling through it. 'Ah, here we go. This!' He pulled out a wraparound Diane von Furstenberg dress with a flourish. 'And these shoes.' He held up a pair of pointy-toed black kitten heels. 'This way, you can play demure, slutty or cougar. The choice is yours.' He thrust the dress and shoes at her. 'Do it. You have no time left. He'll be here any second.' He began unzipping the catsuit. 'It's eighty degrees outside. Way too hot for latex anyway. You'll smell like a goat.' He blew her a kiss and went away.

Barely five minutes later, he was back. 'He's here. I put him in the drawing room.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'He's very nervous. You'll ace it.' He winked and left again.

Damn Hanssen and his punctuality. She looked at herself in the mirror. Demure, slutty, cougar. Trademark lipstick en pointe.

It really did feel like a first date. She had not felt this way since she was a teenager.

It was all rather exciting, actually.

'Let the game begin,' she murmured, smiling to herself in the mirror.


	7. Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this! It's important to stay true to Hanssen's character, and bridge the void between Lady Gabrielle and Hanssen turning into her Master. Things don't just happen, even in fiction...
> 
> Hanssen and Gabrielle decide to take things further, but neither of them is used to playing the dating game, leading to some reticence. Expectations fight with reservation on both sides. Meanwhile, Holby Chairman John Sanders is keen to get rid of Hanssen and put his own choice in as CEO.

Hanssen's expression was guarded when she walked into the living room. It was clear she had thrown him with her appearance in a simple dress and natural makeup.

'Who am I talking to? Lady Gabrielle or Susan?'

'That depends on you. Lady Gabrielle is very happy to have your company this evening, but Susan feels bad because she was appallingly rude to you the last time you saw her.'

'I don't believe so. She was protecting herself. And I did break the rules, remember. I took a risk and it didn't turn out quite the way I hoped.'

'You're very gracious, Mr. Hanssen. I've been giving this some thought, and as you said, some rules are meant to be broken.'

The silence stretched between them.

'Does this mean...?' Hanssen began.

'It's your decision...,' She said at the same time.

Hanssen's lips twitched in a small smile. 'Well, as Susan is here, I'd like to take this opportunity to get to know her better. If that's...'

'Yes!' Her emphatic answer surprised them both. 'How about a drink? Not here. I know a place not far ...'

'Perfect.' Hanssen held out his arm, a courtly gesture she had never experienced first-hand before. Biting her lip to stop from laughing, she accepted the gesture and allowed him to lead her from the house.

'I'll drive,' she said, when she spied his company Volvo. It wasn't a bad-looking car, but the evening was warm and cloudless, the sun still high in the heavens. It was time to unleash the beast in her garage.

She backed the convertible Jaguar XJ6 out of the double garage and the soft-top smoothly descended. She put on her Armani sunglasses and smiled up at him.

'Get in.'

To his credit, he did not pass any comment about a woman having a beautiful car, or seem to resent her desire to drive. He stretched out his long legs and enjoyed the drive to the Severn Arms, a small pub tucked in the backwoods of the Avon Vale. She also caught him taking sneaky glances at her legs, which were not quite hidden by the wraparound dress. Her stomach clenched in nervous anticipation. There was a whole lot of difference between her whipping him to ecstasy and engaging in meaningful conversation. What was he expecting?

And what was she expecting, or hoping for?

******

'I don't think I've talked so much in years, not even to my therapist,' he said ruefully. 'I feel I've rather hogged the conversation.'

'Not at all. I sensed you wanted to talk when we first met. I'm glad you felt able to. I can't imagine having to deal with all the things you've experienced over the years.' She put her hand on his. To lose a son, to know that son had killed and injured people because he didn't get the love he needed from his father, and to carry the guilt of past mistakes was so much for any man to bear. She wondered how he stayed sane.

Night was falling, and with it, the temperature, but they remained warm under a patio heater strung with white fairy lights. Their meal had been excellent, as she knew it would be. It was good to see him consuming steak and chips with obvious enjoyment, but she had hardly tasted her salmon en croute, superb as it was. As they lingered over small slabs of chocolate brownie and coffee, he gently quizzed her on her own life.

'There's not a lot to say. I was married for nearly 30 years, but he became ill with pancreatic cancer and died suddenly. It took a while to reset, to accept I could continue on my own. I had good friends though, and a healthy respect for the grieving process. I created Lady Gabrielle two years later. It was something David and I had ... you know.' She blushed, not meeting his eyes. 'I was good at it and I wanted an income whilst not impinging on my lifestyle. God, that sounds so shallow, doesn't it?'

'I'm hardly one to judge.'

She looked at him. 'I'm not academic, Mr. Hanssen. In fact, I barely left school with any qualifications. I was lucky to marry well, and I enjoyed being at home and doing the whole "corporate wife" thing. I can talk and put people at ease. Maybe that's my talent. There must be something more than nipple clamps and pinwheels. In fact, I do...' She hesitated, unsure how he would feel about what she was going to say next.

'What is it?'

She took a deep breath. 'Jordan, who works for me, he does my hair, makeup, makes some of Lady Gabrielle's outfits. He's brilliant. His parents threw him out of the house when he was nineteen, after he told them he was gay. He had nowhere to go so I said he could stay with me. His parents were family friends but not any more. He's been with me for three years. The thing is, there are so many young people like him, but a lot of them are out on the street. They have nowhere to go. I'm working with one of the homeless shelters specifically for LGBT people, somewhere in the city, and setting up scholarships to sponsor people who want to go back to college.'

His smile was warm. 'That's truly wonderful.'

'It's very rewarding. Thank you.' She wanted to put her hand on his, but at that moment, the waiter came over to ask if they wanted more coffee.

'Just the bill, please,' Hanssen said.

She wondered if he thought the evening was over. The time had come for that awkward moment between her wanting to ask him into the house for a nightcap and him no doubt refusing. When the waiter put the leather folder containing the bill on the table, they both reached for it at the same time.

'I insist,' Hanssen said.

'But it was my idea to come out.'

'I still insist.' Hanssen tucked a platinum card into the sleeve and handed it to the waiter. Susan didn't argue. He was a proud man and it would have been unseemly to protest further.

'Thank you,' she said simply. 'It was lovely. I didn't expect...'

He looked at her.

'What I mean is, I didn't...' She didn't actually know what she meant. Suddenly she felt as tongue-tied as a naive teenager. 'I think it's time we went.'

'Still some light left in the west,' he commented as she drove them back to her house. She was driving slower than normal, thinking of what to say to him when they arrived. Would he like to stay? Would he like a nightcap? Another coffee? Should she just thank him for the evening and let him go? Would he think less of her if she did ask him to stay? She felt almost nauseous with nerves. After everything she did with her clients, it should have been a breeze.

Yet Lady Gabrielle was an illusion, a creation she could put back in a box whenever she wished. Susan was a widow, a woman who had not been with any other man apart from her husband. She tried not to think about that. Hanssen thought she was in control, but the reality was, in real life she was probably less experienced than he was. She just knew how to hide it.

'Susan? Is everything all right?'

His low, gravelled voice sent a shiver down her spine. She gripped the steering wheel. 'I was just wondering whether ...' She couldn't say it. Thirty-five years out of the dating game, and she was totally out of her depth. She said no more until they arrived back at the house, trying to ignore the fluttering in her lower stomach.

'It's always better to just say it,' he said, when she turned off the engine.

'I'm afraid you'll think poorly of me if I do.'

'Why don't you let me be the judge of that?'

She drew a deep breath. It was ridiculous. They were both adults. She had nothing to lose.

'Stay.'

He looked out of the window, into the blackness of night. 'Is that what you want?'

'I wouldn't suggest anything I didn't want. I'd like you to stay, if you...'

He turned towards her. 'I don't want to share you.'

'I know. You don't have to."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "It means if we're going to do this, and start seeing each other, then my activities end from this moment on."

"And you're willing to do that? For me?"

She forced herself to stop rolling her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Hanssen. I'm willing to ..." His lips silenced her. She let out a small whimper as he pulled away.

'Should I have done that?' He asked anxiously.

She nodded, unable to speak.

'Is Jordan home?'

'He's away until Monday morning. Some drag convention in London...' She did not finish the sentence properly before he kissed her again. This time there was more heat, a tentative exploring of tongues, their breathing becoming faster as the kiss deepened. She rested her hand on his stomach, sliding her fingers between his shirt buttons and stroking his skin. He trembled at her touch and his hand subtly moved hers lower, towards the heat in his groin.

She knew exactly what he was doing, but wasn't going to make it that easy for him. His breath caught as she gently nipped his lower lip, moving her hand back up to his waist. She could feel the urgency in the way he was kissing her. He was slightly clumsy, awkward, desperate not to do the wrong thing.

"This is a new experience for me," he said when she broke the kiss.

"You've never made out in a car before?"

"I've never been with anyone like you before."

She smiled reassuringly at him. "Let's go inside.'

******

She had no illusions that he would sweep her off her feet and carry her up the stairs like Rhett Butler. He just wasn't that kind of man. He hovered awkwardly in the living room, watching her retrieve two crystal tumblers and a bottle of single malt out of a display cabinet.

'Ice?'

'No. Thank you.' He took his glass and sniffed appreciatively at the amber liquor, then took a sip. 'It's very good.'

The silence thickened again.

'Look, if you're not ready, it's okay. You just have to be honest with me. I'm a big girl. I can take it.'

'I'm sure you can,' he murmured. 'I'm just not very good...' He struggled to find the words. 'I want you to be bold for me, Susan. I feel like a fool, not really knowing how to ... proceed.'

She chewed her lip and kept her face serious. 'For a start, you are allowed to sit down.'

'Right.' He headed towards an armchair.

'On the sofa. It's more comfortable.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.'

She went to the sound system and selected a playlist of mood-appropriate tracks. Sade, Nina Simone, George Michael. She wasn't sure whether he listened to anything other than classical but it was a good place to start.

'You want me to be bold,' she said, standing in front of him. He looked up at her, clutching his whisky tumbler in both hands.

'Yes please.'

'With Lady Gabrielle, you know what the rules of the game are. With Susan, there are no rules. All bets are off. Is that acceptable to you?'

The furrows between his dark brows deepened. 'Yes...'

She took the whisky tumbler out of his hands and climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Their faces were very close.

'This is me being bold,' she whispered, and kissed him gently but firmly on the mouth.

After the briefest hesitation whilst he regained his composure, he returned the kiss, his long arms encircling her waist. She could feel his body responding to her whisky-laced tongue as he deepened the kiss. She felt rather than heard the low groan in his chest as he pressed her close to him, adjusting his position to feel more of her. His fingers slipped under her dress and found the curve of her buttocks. There was no need to ask if he was happy with the situation. That much was obvious. When the kiss ended, his glasses had steamed up.

'I don't think you need these.' She carefully removed them and leaned back to put them on the coffee table, then looked into his soft hazel eyes again. The pupils were enlarged and his usually pale skin was flushed. His fingers gently flexed against her buttocks, subtly pressing her closer to him. She felt the rise and fall of his breathing, and the warmth of his breath between slightly parted, narrow lips.

'Let me take you to bed while I can still walk,' he said in a husky whisper.

Her eyes widened innocently. 'Why wouldn't you be able to walk? Because of this?' She pressed down on his lap, feeling an answering throb. His eyelids drooped, betraying his need.

She slipped the dress from her shoulders and placed his hands upon her breasts, magnificently displayed in a dark purple balconette bra. After giving the garment due admiration, he unhooked the bra and peeled it away, bending his head to suckle on one of her taut nipples. Her fingers tightened in his hair as her back arched. She whispered his name, and his head came up.

'You've never called me by my first name before.'

She composed herself. 'Well, I guess we should be on first name terms now, considering ...' She undulated in his lap, feeling the solid ridge of his erection.

'You're quite correct...'

'Stop talking.' She kissed his lips, keeping the gentle undulations of her body going. He was powerless to resist, fumbling with his clothes as their lips remained locked. He manoeuvred her onto her back on the couch and loomed over her, ripping away her scant underwear. She half-gasped, half-laughed at the ferocity with which he entered her, all decorum swept away. Her legs wrapped around him and held him tightly as they let the moment overtake them. Too soon, the storm was over, and he was breathing heavily, collapsed on her chest. They were both slick with a fine gleam of perspiration. She ran her fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck, teasing them out, letting them go, finding them again. He was still inside her, softening slowly, his seed oozing between her thighs.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered against her breast. 'I wanted to last longer than that. I needed ...'

'Hush, I know. Now the tension has broken, we can take our time. We can make it last all night if you want to.'

His eyes widened. "All night?"

"No pressure. But if you want ...." Again, his kiss halted the words. When they parted, he looked stern.

"I'm taking you upstairs. Doctor's orders."

 

******

 

'Serena?' John Sanders jogged up the stairs after her. 'I hoped I might catch you.'

Serena Campbell hid her grimace behind a tight smile. 'Mr. Sanders. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

'I just wanted your take on the rumours that AAU is being moved to St. James. The Board are concerned there might have been an indiscretion.'

Serena raised an eyebrow. 'It's the first I've heard about either. Surely you should be talking to Henrik, not me.' As she said it, a long red Jaguar pulled into the car park below their window. 'He's just arrived. I'll pretend I didn't hear what you just said.' She turned to go.

'Oh, I think Hanssen has plenty of other things on his mind at the moment.' Sanders was glaring down at the car. 'How long has that being going on?'

As Serena looked, a woman's hand appeared out of the driver's side window, gave a wave, and Hanssen walked into the hospital building. The car paused for a moment before roaring away.

'A few weeks, I believe,' she said carefully. She did not like the sly look on Sander's face.

'Well, that is interesting.' Sanders smiled evilly and turned away.


	8. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Gabrielle trusts Hanssen enough by now to make the switch from domme to submissive, but time will tell whether he is Master material. Jordan is apprehensive about his friend handing control over to a man she hardly knows. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Hanssen has had a rough ride in the Boardroom and is ready to establish who is the real boss.

'Who do you think that is, then?' Fletch asked Sacha as they peered out of the window. 'That Jag's dropped him off at least three times this week. Twice the last.'

'You're very observant,' Sacha said drily.

'I'm paid to be observant.' Fletch looked out at the sleek red car. 'They drive a convertible, but never have the top down. That's criminal with the summer we're having.'

'Perhaps she doesn't want to be seen. Or he doesn't want people speculating.'

'Speculating on what?' Dom had joined them. 'Hanssen's girlfriend?'

'So what's the skinny, then? You seem to know everything,' Fletch said.

'Of course, because I'm the token gay and we always have our fingers on the pulse of work gossip,' Dom said sarcastically. 'I have no idea and it might surprise you to know I don't actually care.'

'But how do you know it's a woman?' Fletch asked. 'It's hard to tell when you can't even see inside the car.'

'It might just be a friend, for all we know,' Dom said. 'Somehow, I can't see Hanssen in the throes of some grand passion. I don't really want to, either.' He shuddered theatrically.

'Come on, Dom, he practically skipped into the lift yesterday. Even asked if I had a good weekend. I don't think we've exchanged two words for months. Now he's making conversation?' Fletch looked out at the car park. The long car was moving away, and there was a definite jaunty bounce to Hanssen's step as he entered the building.

'Whatever, it's good to see him back on form,' Dom said stoutly. 'Feels like there's some normality returning to the place.'

'That is anything but normal,' Fletch countered.

'And his personal life is none of our business,' Sacha added. 'Back to work, everyone.'

'You got to admit, you're curious,' Fletch said to Sacha as they walked back to the ward.

Sacha gave him a benign smile which could have meant anything.

******

'Are you sure you want to do this?' Jordan asked, for the tenth time.

'I'll be fine. Don't worry.'

'I do. This isn't what you do, Susan. You hardly know Hanssen. Banging him and trusting him are two totally different things. What if he turns into another dickwad like Sanders?'

She put a calming hand on Jordan's chest. 'I appreciate your concern but this isn't a client thing. This is two people who like each other a lot, wanting to experiment in the bedroom. It's a lot less dangerous than going on Grindr for one-off sexual encounters, isn't it?'

Jordan pursed his lips. 'Fair point, but I don't allow myself to be in a locked room, on my own with the people I meet. At worst it's a toilet cubicle in a nightclub...'

'Please. Spare me the details.'

'What about those texts? Is Sanders still sending them?'

'I had another one this morning. He wants to talk face to face.'

'But you're not going to, right? Not after what he did last time?'

'I don't know, to be honest. I don't think he's going to go away until I do.'

Privately, Gabrielle knew she had no choice. John Sanders would keep persisting until she agreed to meet him. The last thing she wanted was him turning up at the house. Normally, she would be able to handle it, but since finding out Sanders was the Chairman of the Board at Holby General, she had a bad feeling about the whole thing. No doubt he wanted to talk about Hanssen. If that was the case, he would be disappointed. She wasn't going to give anything away.

But she wasn't going to let Sanders or Jordan's worrying stop her from enjoying this night. She had been looking forward to it for days. She stood up straight and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The short toga dress Jordan had made for her barely skimmed her thighs, and hinted at the demure white panties she wore underneath. Her makeup was exaggerated, her smoky eyes embellished with long sweeps of eyeliner in the style of Cleopatra. Around her neck she wore a gold collar with a ring on the back to attach a chain. Jordan fussed around her black bobbed wig for a few more seconds, spritzing it with a light cloud of hairspray, then finally drew a perfect Cupid's bow on her lips, filling them in with gold lip colour. A final dusting of bronzer, and she was ready.

'Toilet,' they said together, and she disappeared into the bathroom.

'Hanssen's arrived,' Jordan said when she came out.

'Great.' She held out her wrists and Jordan fastened them with gold cufflinks, then handed her the key.

'You know where I am if you need me. Just remember the panic button,' Jordan warned her as they went downstairs. The doorbell rang. Gabrielle could see Hanssen's tall shadow looming beyond the frosted glass.

'Go!" She whispered, shooing Jordan away. He flounced off with a little moue of mock disapproval.

She took a deep breath to get into character, then opened the door. Hanssen stood there, looking as stern as a Master should, immaculate in a three-piece dark suit. Wordlessly, she held out the gold key for him to take, showing him the handcuffs around her wrists. Then she dropped to her knees in front of him, adopting a servile position.

'Get up.' His voice was hard. She hid her smile beneath lowered lashes and slowly climbed to her feet, being careful not to look at him.

'Look at me.'

She raised her face to his. His eyes were cold. He brushed past her and went to the living room, where Jordan had already put out a tray of tea for one and his homemade _macarons_. Maria Callas sung an aria from La Boheme in the background. Gabrielle padded after Hanssen, who settled in her chair.

'Sit by me.' He motioned to a space next to him.

'Did you have a good day, Master?' She asked timidly as she knelt at his feet.

'You'll speak when you're told to. Not before.' His cold, husky tones sent a shiver through her. He poured a cup of tea and relaxed back in the chair, drinking and letting the music sweep over him.

Gabrielle eyed the untouched plate of _macaron_. There was one at the top, just waiting to be taken. Hanssen finished his tea, put the cup down and relaxed again with his eyes closed.

After a few moments, she took the top macaron, separated the halves and licked at the filling, watching Hanssen for any sign of movement.

Nothing. He was blissfully unaware of what she was doing. She ate the first half, trying not to make a noise with the handcuffs on. A crumb fell on her dress. She dashed it away and looked up.

Hanssen was watching her.

_Busted._

The gleam in his eye told her she was in trouble. No guts, no glory. She shoved the other half of the macaron in her mouth, defiantly dabbing away residual crumbs.

As the seconds passed, she sensed the danger growing. He was thinking about ways to punish her, probably running them through in his mind, relishing them, stringing out the anticipation.

Finally, he stood up. 'Come with me.'

When she hesitated, he reached for the handcuffs and hauled her to her feet.

'What are you going to do to me?'

'I said don't talk!' The raising of his voice made her jump, and for the first time, she felt apprehensive.

He led her down to the playroom and shut the door behind them. She had prepared the room beforehand, with soft music and lights. Even though the room was warm, she shivered in the flimsy silk dress. She felt very exposed with just that and a tiny pair of panties on.

'Stand there. Don't move.' He unlocked the handcuffs from one wrist, then raised her uncuffed arm so it was above her head. Two leather strops hung down from a ring, and from those hung soft leather cuffs. Within moments he had her cuffed to them, her arms spread wide. They were strong enough to support the weight of a 16-stone man, so she knew she was safe, but it didn't help her sense of vulnerability when he cuffed her ankles to the floor, spread-eagling her for his delectation both from the front and the back. The chain rattled softly as she shifted her stance.

'You must understand that even the smallest amount of insubordination will lead to grave misdemeanours if it isn't dealt with swiftly and severely.' His tone was conversational, imbuing his words with quiet menace. He took something out of an inner jacket pocket and laid it on the table behind them. She couldn't quite see what it was. He removed his jacket and hung it up, then unfastened his cufflinks, rolling up his sleeves in a purposeful manner that filled her with trepidation. The buttoned waistcoat enhanced his slender build, but she had no illusions. He was stronger than stone and would have no problems in overpowering her, should she need to defend herself.

'Do you understand what I'm saying?' He asked, picking up the leather flogger.

'Yes,' she whispered.

The flogger made contact with her backside, making her cry out. He stood in front of her, looking into her eyes.

'Yes, Master. What kind of sub are you if you can't even get that right?'

His tone was so contemptuous, she felt her eyes grow moist. 'I'm sorry, Master. I...'

'Do you trust me?'

She miserably shook her head, and he walloped her bottom again. 'Wrong answer. Your Master will always look after you.' He forced her to face him, his fingers gripping her chin. 'You have nothing to fear,' he whispered, his thumb tenderly stroking her cheek.

She relaxed slightly, reassured by his words. 'Thank you, Master,' she replied. 'Your sub trusts you implicitly.'

He backed away, smiling slightly. 'Good. You have nothing to fear but fear itself. To answer your earlier question, my day has been ... regrettable.'

She waited, knowing he would elucidate only if he wanted to. Asking him would only incur his wrath. Instead, he picked up the object he had placed on the table earlier. As he approached her with it, she shrank away, truly alarmed.

It was a scalpel.

'You have to trust me,' he said quietly. 'If you flinch or make any sudden movements, this could cut you very badly. You understand?'

'But my hard limits...'

'I know. Be still.'

She held her breath as he delicately sliced through the silk gathered at her shoulder. _Jordan's going to be pissed off_ , she thought, as the front and back sections of her dress fell away, baring her to the waist on one side. Her nipple puckered and hardened.

'Beautiful,' Hanssen whispered. He still held the scalpel but she was no longer afraid. He was a surgeon, not some clumsy amateur. She was in safe hands.

He walked behind her, flipped up her short skirt and tucked it into the gold rope at her waist. She sensed him thinking about it, taking his time to choose how he wanted her to look. The white panties were also effortlessly sliced away. He gave her bottom a hearty smack with the palm of his hand. It stung like buggery, causing her to cry out.

'Ow, that hurt!'

With a cold look, he picked up the flogger again and struck, hitting that exact spot again and again, leaving just enough time for the sting to heat up between each blow.

'You think I've spent all these weeks just taking everything you chose to give me? You think I haven't been waiting for this moment? Imagining how you would feel if the tables were turned? Lady Gabrielle, you are arrogant in the extreme, thinking I wouldn't be doing my research, planning this in forensic detail...' He continued to punish her, but her endorphins were kicking in, just as she knew they would. The heat was rising in her body, confusing pain with pleasure.

'You think I haven't been in this position before?' She replied. 'You also have a lot to learn, Mr. Hanssen. You haven't earned the right to be called Master.' Her words were staccato, gasped with each new assault on her now scarlet backside. 'You're only this good because of me,' she taunted him.

He stood back, breathing heavily. She met his gaze in the mirror opposite. His cool smile told her she really was in trouble.

'Bring it on,' she whispered.

******

Everything she had done to him over the last few weeks, he did to her. He used the pinwheel, electrifying her body until she was squirming uncontrollably, soothing her with the mink glove then subjecting her to more exquisite torture. He found nipple clamps attached to a neck collar and put them on her, so that every move she made caused them to tug at her tender nipples and prolong the agony. In the tiny corner of her mind that could think straight, she was impressed. He wanted to prove that he was worthy and was pulling out all the stops to do it. When he inserted one of her remote-controlled vibrators inside her and teased her to distraction that way, she almost cried out for him to stop. It was too intense, too exquisite. She collapsed against her bonds and gave in to a sharp, ultimately unsatisfying orgasm that he watched with greedy satisfaction. The more she begged him to fuck her, the longer he denied her.

'Say I'm your Master and I'll give you what you desire,' he said calmly, watching her writhe in ecstasy.

'Yes,' she panted finally. 'Yes, now do it!'

'Say the words. Say, 'Mr. Hanssen, you are my Master.' Say it!'

It was no good. She couldn't bear it any more. She wanted him with every fibre of her being.

'Mr. Hanssen, you're my true Master,' she whispered.

He stepped close to her, looking down into her eyes. He stroked one hand over her face, so tenderly, she felt like weeping. 'Lady Gabrielle, I release you from your sensual bondage.'

As he began to free her arms and ankles, she remembered their first meeting, and the words she had said to him. He had remembered, just as she did. Her arms encircled his neck as he picked her up. By the time they reached the bed, he was already inside her.

******

'What happened in the Boardroom?' He was lying in her arms on the wide bed. She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, the movement calming them both. When he did not answer, her grip tightened on his hair and she forced him to look at her. 'What happened?'

He did not answer for a long time. Then, 'Ric Griffin warned me there would be a witch hunt. Sanders has been very busy, looking into the hospital's past affairs. He's trying to build a case against me but I've managed to retain my position for now.' He smiled wryly. 'I doubt I'll be so lucky next time.'

'It isn't luck. People have faith in you because you're good at what you do. Why is Sanders so keen to get rid of you?'

'I won't do what he wants. I make changes as I see fit for the good of the hospital, not to appease large pharmaceutical companies or those wanting to further their careers. I won't be bought, and he doesn't like it.'

'How did he get voted in as Chairman in the first place then? It doesn't make sense.'

'He presented well, but obviously wants more than just an advisory role without doing the hard work.'

'And that's it? Are you sure there isn't anything else at play in the background?'

'I'm sure there is. Unfortunately, I won't find out what it is until it comes up and bites me.' He rolled over and draped one long leg possessively over hers. 'I feel safe here, Susan. Sometimes I think you're the only person I can truly trust.'

She held him tightly, unable to ignore the sudden sense of foreboding.

******

When her phone buzzed, she assumed it would be one of his abrupt, largely uninformative texts. She had one most days, the latest being "Miss you."

But this was from the number she dreaded more than anything.

"We need to talk."

Jordan drove her to the pub and went to sit at a safe distance, watching to make sure she didn't get into any trouble.

John Sanders was in the large garden, nursing a pint of ale. He stood up when he saw her, and moved to kiss her cheek before she was ready for him. He managed to plant one before she ducked away.

'We're well past that. What do you want?' She couldn't be bothered to be polite to him. The last time they had met, he had behaved appallingly, striking her with her own cat o'nine tails because she wouldn't have sex with him. It was a risk, but she could honestly say that had never happened before. It was the primary reason she had decided to quit. He could have raped her, but only the fear of being found out, and losing his prime position had stopped him, she surmised later.

'Please don't be like that. It was a misunderstanding,' he said smoothly. 'And it wasn't as if anything happened.'

'You assaulted me because I wouldn't suck your dick. That's what happened.'

'I don't recall anything like that. Would you like a drink?'

'No thank you. Just tell me what you want and let me go.'

'I presume I can count on your discretion? I could make things very difficult for you otherwise.'

'You're threatening me? What with? There's nothing you can say without incriminating yourself.'

'Talk to me about Hanssen. Did you do the tape like I asked you to?'

She laughed in disbelief. 'Absolutely not. You can threaten me all you like but you'll never get anything from me like that.'

'I'm sure the tax man would enjoy investigating your income over the last few years. And the papers.'

'That's why I have an accountant. And you can go to hell. You have nothing on me. Nothing.'

He grabbed her hand before she could leave. 'Don't be so sure about that.' He drew her towards him. 'I won't call you again. How about a kiss for old times' sake?' He lunged at her lips but she turned her head at the last moment and thrust him away.

'Creep. Stay away from me.' She said it loud enough for other guests to look their way. A waiter came over.

'Is there a problem?'

'I'm just leaving.' She shuddered in disgust and walked into the pub to find Jordan. 'Let's go.'

Jordan abandoned his orange juice and ran after her to the car.

'Did you get it on tape?' She asked him.

'Every single word.'

'Great. He should have known I wouldn't give anything away.' Even so, she felt deeply uneasy. It seemed too simple just to walk away. Somehow, she knew there was worse to come.


	9. Indiscretion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the best tradition of romance stories, it eventually all goes tits up.... 
> 
> Time to have a bit of fun with these characters. I love Serena and Bernie. They make a great double act, especially when they decide to take Hanssen out to cheer him up. 
> 
> Of course, things don't go exactly to plan...

'We're taking you out for a bottle or two of Shiraz and some sage GBF advice,' Serena said, taking Hanssen's arm. Bernie walked with them, holding Serena's other hand. 'But not at Albies. The last thing we need is some wretchedly perky F1 eavesdropping on the state of your love life.'

Hanssen couldn't even raise a rueful smile. That afternoon, he had returned to his office to see an unmarked brown envelope on his desk. It's outwardly benign appearance seemed to vaguely threatening. He knew as he picked it up that it wouldn't contain anything good.

The first photographs were harmless enough, taken through the window of Susan's Jaguar. They were kissing, but it could have been two friends bidding each other farewell.

The next ones were unmistakable.

'Oh, bloody hell.' The expletive came out before he could stop it. He knew exactly when they had been taken. Susan had taken him to a private club in the middle of nowhere, ostensibly for a day of relaxation and spa treatments. It had been rather wonderful, if he recalled. Swimming in the warm salt pool, experiencing a full body massage for the first time, watching her luscious curvy body with mounting hunger in the jacuzzi and hearing her laugh as the bubbles burst around her face.

Things had got a little steamy in the sauna, necessitating use of the large white towels to hide his predicament. And in the afternoon they had walked in the private woods. With no-one else around them, they had made love on mossy ground, she spread beneath him, pinned down with his hands on her wrists, and he had fucked her deep and slow.

The photographs showed them in that deeply personal act. At any other time, he would find the images erotic, but he knew why they had been taken. And he also knew it was just the ammunition Sanders was after in order to sink him. Susan had betrayed him in the worst possible way. He felt like a complete fool.

With the photographs, there was a note with just three words, crudely cut out of newspaper print. "TIME TO GO."

By the time Serena had found him, he was more than halfway intoxicated, thanks to a bottle of single malt stored in his desk drawer, but he managed to walk steadily with her and Bernie down to the car park, and conduct legible, if not entirely erudite, conversation.

'I'm driving,' Bernie said, jolting him out of his grim reverie. 'So you two can get totally wrecked.'

'God knows, we all need that.' Serena squeezed Hanssen's arm. 'Come on. You can't be this gloomy all evening. A good steak and scintillating company is all any man needs.'

'I hardly think steak is going to fix the problem I'm facing right now.'

'So we're going to talk about it and see what can be done,' Serena said firmlya.

Outside, the weather was wet and miserable, suiting Hanssen's mood.

'Where are we going?'

Bernie let them into her car. 'There's a new steak restaurant on the edge of town. We're less likely to find any other Holby inmates there.'

By the time they reached their destination, he had sobered up slightly.

'Get that down you,' Serena said, picking up her glass. 'Chin, chin.' She took a healthy gulp, then stared as Hanssen drained his glass in less than ten seconds, reaching for the bottle again. 'You approve of my choice, then,' she added acidly.

'It just confirms my initial suspicions. She's a honey-trap, set up by Sanders and I fell into it. Head first.' Hanssen took another large gulp of wine, before Serena moved it away.

'That's a 2011 Cloudy Bay Shiraz. Perhaps give it the respect it deserves?'

'I should have known Sanders was behind this. He's wanted to oust me from day one.' Hanssen stared unseeingly at the menu. The words were little more than meaningless shapes.

'You need to have more faith in the Board. They know what Sanders is like. He wants an obedient CEO bowing to his every wish and they know you won't do that. You're not afraid to make tough decisions. You've fallen on your sword more than once for Holby and people respect that. Sanders is only out for his own gain. Besides, your private life should have absolutely no bearing on whether the Board have confidence in you or not. They're more likely to take a very dim view of his questionable methods.'

'If we can prove it was him. And my life is hardly private if I have to justify my actions to the Board, is it?' He kept his voice low with an effort. His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass. He would have snapped it, but he valued the alcohol more, throwing it moodily down his throat.

Serena and Bernie exchanged glances. A man's laugh rang through the restaurant, and as one they turned towards the noise. The woman with him was also laughing, talking animatedly.

'Oh dear,' Serena sighed.

Hanssen gave her a full-force glare. 'You knew she would be here?'

'Absolutely not. I need red meat and plenty of it. Take my advice and pretend you didn't see her.' She smiled as the waiter brought their food. 'This looks excellent.'

She and Bernie attacked their steaks with gusto but Hanssen hardly touched his. His attention kept being drawn to Susan. She looked lovely, blissfully unaware of his fuming presence, laughing and flirting with her handsome male companion.

'If you're not eating that, then I will,' Bernie said, helping herself to a generous chunk of steak off Hanssen's plate. Serena began munching steadfastly through his chips.

Hanssen looked over at Susan again. The sight of her tenderly stroking his rival's face was the last straw. He pulled the photographs out of the brown envelope.

'Whatever you're thinking of doing, it's a big no,' Bernie said, as he began to walk towards the Susan's table. 'Henrik, don't...'

 

******

 

'God, it's good to see you.' Susan hugged Tony tightly. 'I've missed you, you old reprobate.'

Her companion smiled. 'Let's face it, we've both been up to our eyes in it. I've missed all the advice I get from my honorary sister.'

'I'm sure you've been behaving incorrigibly.'

'As ever, but no-one's managed to get a ring on it yet. I took your advice and told her.'

'And?'

'Lots of tears. She left. Two weeks later, she was back. I took her to Dubai and it's business as usual. Only this time, she isn't nagging about getting married. Job done.'

Susan laughed gaily. 'You see? I told you it would work out. She doesn't want to get married either. She just likes banging you because you have money.'

He laughed uproariously, causing other diners to turn and frown. 'Tell it like it is, babe.'

'Always.' They raised their glasses and toasted.

'So what's your issue?' He asked as they were handed menus.

'Some annoying shit sabre-rattling. Pissed off because I won't screw him, so he's meddling in things he doesn't understand. Now he's threatening to out me to the police, the tax inspectors, anyone he can to cause trouble. And .... he's going to make trouble for a good friend.'

Tony nodded. 'A man friend?'

'Yep.' She glanced at the menu, but already knew what she was having. Steak, a fat, bloody one.

'Have you got any evidence at all you've been taking clients?'

She shook her head. 'I destroyed my client book a few weeks back. Burned it, in fact. I haven't seen anyone apart from He... this guy for weeks. The only thing anyone will find is my playroom. I deleted all my clients numbers. Wiped the slate clean.'

'Fuck!' Tony was obviously angry on her behalf. 'Pity you had to do that because of one total shit who didn't understand the rules.'

'It's okay. I was done anyway. Quit while you're ahead and all that?'

The waiter came to take their order. The restaurant was busy for a Thursday night and they were warned there might be a slight wait.

'What about Jordan?' Tony asked when the man had gone. 'Can you trust him?'

She thought for a moment before replying. 'Yes, I do, but he doesn't know everything, for his sake as well as mine. I always had in mind something like this would happen. It's best he isn't put in the position where he might have to disclose what he's seen. God, I wish I'd never set eyes on that bloody man! I knew he was trouble from the start. I should have followed my instincts and sent him on his way long ago.'

Tony took her hand. 'Hey, it's okay. Don't blame yourself, hon. We'll get this figured out, okay? It's kinda nice for me to give you advice for a change.'

She stroked his face. 'You're a good friend, Tony. Babs is lucky to have you.'

As she drew away, something landed on her place setting, knocking over her wine glass. As the liquid spilt over it, she could see it was a set of photographs, the top one being of her and Hanssen in a very compromising position. She looked up, expecting to see John Sanders, but instead it was Hanssen looming over her, his face a mask of fury.

'You don't see clients in public. You stopped seeing them weeks ago. That's what you told me.' His usually pale face was flushed. She could smell alcohol on his breath.

Tony stood up. 'I don't know who you are, mate, but...'

'Sit down!'

The crack in Hanssen's voice brought the restaurant to a standstill. Shocked, Tony slumped back in his seat.

Susan kept her voice calm and low. 'Tony's a family friend...'

'Don't lie to me!'

She started at the loudness of his voice. Silence descended on the restaurant. Everyone was staring at them.

'I've never lied to you,' she said quietly.

'You expect me to believe that? How can I trust anything you say when you've been seeing Holby's Chairman behind my back! As well as doing your prostituting in public...'

She slapped him hard. As he stared mutely at her, reeling in shock, the manager headed in their direction. Everyone else seemed transfixed, watching their every move.

'We'll talk outside.' Not waiting for him to respond, Susan picked up the sheaf of photographs and walked through the restaurant towards the door.

'Babe? You want me to ...?' Tony called after her.

'I can handle it.' Her heart was hammering and she felt totally sick. On the way, she saw Serena Campbell and another woman staring at her with horrified looks. Hanssen followed at a determined pace, the two women in hot pursuit.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' She asked as soon as they were outside.

Hanssen simmered with fury, pacing like a caged lion. 'I should ask you the same thing!'

'Tony isn't a client. He's my late husband's accountant. For God's sake, Henrik. You humiliated me in public! How dare you...!'

'You lied to me, Susan. I trusted you. Against my better judgement, I actually trusted you!'

'You can still trust me! What the hell happened? Who took these?' She shook the photographs at him.

'You should know. You set it all up!'

'How can you say that? I was going to tell you that John Sanders was giving me trouble, but I didn't want to when you were so stressed already!'

'You didn't think that might be relevant? How stupid do you think I am?'

'Don't tempt me, Henrik. I doubt you'll like the answer!' Behind him, she could see Serena and the blonde woman approaching.

'I was stupid to believe a slut who fucks for money!'

Behind him, Serena winced and mouthed "sorry."

'You're wrong,' Susan said coldly. 'If you want to believe I'd do something that lousy, then fine. I can't stop you. But you couldn't be more wrong. You've crossed a line. Hanssen. The game is over. Go to hell.'

She tossed the photographs at his feet and walked back into the restaurant.

******

'Exactly what was that?' Serena was furious with him. 'Get in the car. There's no way you're going back in there.'

'Where are you going?' Bernie asked as she headed back into the building.

'Damage limitation,' Serena said tersely. 'Get him to the car, strap him in and make sure he doesn't go anywhere.'

She stomped off into the restaurant. Susan's companion was on his own, disconsolately sawing through his steak. Susan's meal was untouched.

'She's in the toilet,' he said.

'Fat lot of good you were,' Serena huffed at him, and headed off to the restroom.

Susan was alone, standing at the mirror, her hands flexing against the marble worktop. Harsh sobs shook her body, and mascara-stained tears ran down her face. When she saw Serena, she dashed the tears away, took some deep, calming breaths and began to scrub furiously at her ruined makeup.

'Typical I picked this night not to wear waterproof mascara,' she joked lamely. 'I look like Alice Cooper.'

'Oh, it's not that bad.' Serena delved in her bag and brought out a small packet of wet wipes. She took one out. 'May I?'

Susan turned her face towards hers and Serena gently wiped the residue away. 'That's better. Henrik is difficult. We both know that. Can you tell me what actually happened with John Sanders?'

Susan sighed deeply and leaned against the basin, her arms folded protectively around her body.

'Sanders was a client of mine. I only saw him a few times. He wanted a bit of spanking with me dressed up as a nurse, if you can believe it. What a fucking cliche.' She smiled sadly. 'I don't have sex with my clients, Serena. Yes, I bring them off with my hands or whatever I'm wielding at the time but I never fucked him.' She chewed her bottom lip, remembering.

'He offered me a stupid amount of money to go the whole way, no condoms, a whole night. I refused and he got ugly. That's when I ended up in AAU and met Henrik for the first time. Since then, Sanders has been calling, pestering, wanting to give me hush money, still trying to get into my knickers. The guy wouldn't quit, especially after he found out I was seeing Henrik regularly. When I still wouldn't help him, the threats began. In the end I met with him, to see what it was he wanted me to do. I taped the conversation because I knew he wasn't going to leave it alone.'

Serena's eyes widened. 'You taped the conversation? What, him threatening you, and ...'

'And saying he wanted to oust Henrik as CEO. Yes.'

Serena looked at her with new respect. 'Well played, my girl.'

'Hardly a girl. I think we're the same age,' Susan reminded her. 'I didn't give Henrik the tape straight away because I wasn't sure if it wouldn't make things worse. I was scared as well, that he wouldn't believe me.' She huffed a laugh. 'Look how well that turned out. I didn't tell Sanders anything, Serena. I never have and I never would.'

Serena gently squeezed her arm. 'I believe you. Sanders is a snake, through and through. How the Board voted him as Chairman, I'll never know. I'd keep the tape safe for now. We'll talk again. The trick is using it at the most appropriate time. Is there anything you want me to say to Henrik regarding his behaviour tonight?'

Susan smiled grimly. 'Tell him I haven't cried since my late husband's funeral. I hope he's proud of himself.'

******

When she climbed back into the car, Bernie gave her a look and started the engine. Hanssen was in the back, his head in his hands.

'I can't believe I did that,' he said bleakly. 'Is she upset?'

'That's one way of putting it. She said she hadn't cried since her husband's death, and she hopes you're proud of yourself.'

Hanssen unfastened his seatbelt. 'I'll talk to her.'

'Nope. Bad idea.' Bernie slammed her foot on the accelerator before he had a chance to open the door. They sped out of the car park and down the road. Hanssen sagged, defeated, back in his seat.

His head began to throb, not only with the enormity of the damage he had done, but the wine, the rich food, everything. The hurt on Susan's face as he had insulted her in the cruellest way. And in front of everyone....

'That's the last time you're drinking red wine,' Serena said tersely. 'What on earth were you thinking?'

'I don't think the Scotch helped,' Bernie reminded her. 'Never mix grape and grain and all that. And with rich food...'

'Which he hardly ate,' Serena reminded her.

'It was a shame because it was delicious,' Bernie said gleefully. 'So bloody, just the way I like it. With that pepper sauce, unctuous and rich with full fat butter...'

The thought of rare steak, or any food for that matter, coffee, wine, whisky... made Hanssen's stomach lurch. He swallowed down the rising thickness in his throat.

'Stop the car,' he urged. 'I think ...'

Bernie screeched to a halt and he reached the verge just in time, purging the contents of his stomach before overbalancing and sprawling in the muddy ditch.

'This evening's getting better by the minute,' Serena remarked, listening to the soft sounds emanating from outside. 'I haven't had a night like this since I was in uni.'

'Ending with tears in a toilet and vomiting in a hedge? Me neither. Those were the days,' Bernie added wistfully.

'So we'd better go home and have forgettable sex to make it really authentic,' Serena murmured.

'Sounds like a plan.' They looked at each other, and simultaneously snorted with laughter.

'I suppose we better rescue him,' Bernie said at last.

It took a bit of effort and a ladder in Serena's tights, but they managed to get Hanssen out of the ditch and shoehorn him into the back of Bernie's Mercedes. He looked like the Grim Reaper dragged through a hedge backwards.

'Please take me home,' he whispered, and promptly passed out.


	10. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable mess that comes with big revelations and huge bust-ups. However, Susan isn't about to let Sanders get away with his appalling behaviour. As for Hanssen, she doesn't want him to lose his job on her account either. 
> 
> There's only one thing to do...

'Well, this is a clusterfuck, I must say,' Jordan said after Susan told him what had happened.

'Just don't say "I told you so," because I will hit you,' she warned him.

'I wouldn't dream of it, darling. You're a big girl. You took a calculated risk and it didn't work out. For what it's worth, I don't think he's a bad person, even though what he said to you was rather harsh.' Jordan sucked on the straw dipped into his margerita. 'He doesn't hold his drink very well, does he?'

 _'In vino veritas_ ,' Susan sighed. 'I don't doubt he meant every word.'

'Maybe at the time, but I bet he's regretting it now.'

Susan was silent. The way Hanssen had looked at her, as if she were something he had stepped in by mistake, was etched on her memory.

'What are you going to do now?' Jordan asked.

Susan considered the question. In truth, she had been thinking about her next move for a while, and her mind was made up.

'Is your passport up-to-date?'

He laughed. 'Hell, yes. I'm always waiting for that one hot man to sweep me off my feet. Hasn't happened yet, though. Why?'

'It's time I had a vacation. I'm thinking Route 66, a Mustang, and a playlist of hit-the-road rock. How about it?'

He grinned at her. 'You're on.'

'But first, I have some unfinished business. Can you help me choose a no-bullshit dress to slay the masses?'

 

******

 

'Morning, Mr. Hanssen. Good weekend?' Fletch's wide grin froze at his CEO's icy look. Dom bit his lip and didn't say anything. The ride up to Keller ward passed in uncomfortable silence.

'I guess that's a no,' Dom said, as soon as the lift doors closed on Hanssen's thunderous expression.

'There's something going on. What are all those geezers doing in the car park? They look like paparazzi.' Fletch looked out of the window. 'What have I missed?'

Meena nudged him and handed over an iPad. 'I'll give you a clue.'

Dom and Fletch looked at the images on the screen. 'You have got to be kidding me.'

Sacha approached them, his rosy face etched with concern. 'If you want to keep your careers, it would be a good idea to be discreet,' he said with characteristic understatement. 'There's a directive from the top. Anyone caught discussing what's in the media at the moment, or even looking at those pictures on hospital grounds, faces suspension. Got it?'

'Yes, Mr. Levi.' Meena killed the image they all dispersed, looking busy.

'You've got to hand it to him, though,' Fletch said to Sacha. 'We all know Hanssen's a dark horse but ...'

Sacha frowned at him. 'Maybe find some way to get rid of the media from the hospital doorstep?'

'Right.'

It was easier said than done. As soon as Fletch went outside, he was converged upon with questions about the photographs which had appeared in the Holby Gazette.

'No comment,' Fletch said.

'Is Mr. Hanssen in the building?'

'Who is the woman?'

'Has he said anything about the photos?'

'No comment,' Fletch said again. 'Go on, shove off. There's no story here.'

But they didn't leave, pouncing on any member of staff they thought might throw them a tasty bit of gossip. Everyone had been fully briefed, though, and no-one was about to say anything if they valued their jobs.

'Won't they ever quit?' Fletch said to Serena as she cruised into AAU's lobby.

'Someone will make a statement to the press after the Board meeting. It's about to start in about ten minutes.'

'Do you think Hanssen will resign over this?'

'God, I hope not. That's the last thing we need right now.'

As she walked away, a long red Jaguar swung into view and parked proprietarily in Hanssen's space.

Jac appeared by Fletch's side. 'Who the hell is that?'

'I think we're just about to find out.'

The door opened and a woman elegantly emerged, wearing black stiletto heels and a figure-hugging red wrap dress. Her face was half-concealed by dark, cats-eye sunglasses. As one, the media hounds turned in her direction.

She was unfazed, stalking through the rabble like a panther. At the steps, she turned to them and held up her hand for silence.

'Go home, boys. After all, a widow and a single man fucking in a forest is hardly prime time news, is it?' She turned and walked through the door, leaving them speechless.

'You can pick your jaw up now,' Jac said to Fletch.

'Excuse me? Miss? You can't park there. That's a private space,' Fletch stuttered as the woman approached him.

She peeled off her sunglasses and smiled. 'Miss? I suppose I should be flattered. You're not really going to make me go back out there, are you? That would be most ungallant, wouldn't it, Mr. Fletcher?'

'Oh, don't worry. He's gallantry personified,' Jac said acidly.

'That's what I thought.' The woman winked at him and headed towards the lift.

Jac side-eyed Fletch, who was still staring, open-mouthed. 'God, you're embarrassing. You actually squeaked.'

'I didn't squeak!'

'You so did.' They were still bickering as they headed back to work.

In the lift, Susan took a deep, calming breath. Despite that little display, she was as nervous as hell. Thank God for Lady Gabrielle for giving her the confidence she needed. She would have to deploy every ounce she had to get through the next ten minutes.

Serena met her at the top of the building. 'Don't worry. Ric and I are right there if you need us. Are you sure you want to do it this way?'

'Absolutely.' Susan didn't want to involve either Serena or Ric Griffin in what she was about to do. It wasn't her intention to cost people their jobs, not even Henrik. As hurt and angry as she was, he wouldn't be toppled from his position on account of knowing her. No way in hell.

There was only one person she wanted to destroy. She wanted to annihilate him, and this was the only way she knew how.

 

******

 

'As far as I see it, Your position here has become untenable.' The gravity in Sanders' tone belied the satisfactory gleam in his eye. 'After the past few months, no-one would blame you for having a little fun, but we do expect a level of discretion which has been, I'm afraid, sadly lacking.'

At the other end of the table, Hanssen kept a stony outer appearance, but inside, he was seething.

'Going forward, we need to consider the hospital's position,' Sanders continued inexorably. 'We need major investment, and we're not going to get it if people are under the impression the CEO is a laughing stock. I'm sorry to be harsh, Henrik, but you have to admit this is unfortunate at best. I think....'

'We all know your thoughts, Mr. Sanders. You've expressed them volubly and at some length.' Hanssen ostentatiously looked at his watch. 'Now we don't have a lot of time left. I'm due at an investors' meeting in an hour.'

'We're way past that,' Sanders protested. 'Someone else should go instead. Or postpone it and I'll go.'

'That meeting was set up weeks ago. It wouldn't serve us any good to cancel it at the eleventh hour.' Holby's Finance Director spoke up for the first time. 'We need to show we're a professional team, putting business first.'

'Patients first,' Hanssen reminded him gravely.

'We won't have any patients without investment,' Sanders snapped. 'And they're hardly going to come to Holby if they think it's being run by an incompetent, are they?'

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, followed by embarrassed coughs.

'I don't think anyone is doubting your competence, Henrik,' Professor Gaskell said, with a scowl at Sanders. 'But ... it might be time to let someone else stand at the helm, at least for a while until this all blows over.'

'it isn't going to blow over!' Sanders practically bounced in his chair. 'How many times do we have to paper over the cracks while he gets his shit together? This isn't a dictatorship, it's a job, and he's not doing it properly!'

In the stunned silence that followed, there was a brief knock and the door opened.

Of all the people Hanssen expected to walk through the door, Susan was the last on the list. She looked beautiful, but she did not acknowledge or even look at him.

'Apologies for the intrusion, but you all need to listen to this. Right now.' She put her phone in front of Hanssen and leaned forward to press the "Play" button.

'What the hell is this?' Sanders was on his feet, shouting.

'Sit down, John. You're embarrassing yourself,' Gaskell said quietly.

'Whatever this is, you cooked this up between you!' Sanders stabbed an accusing finger at Hanssen.

'Don't be ridiculous.' Hanssen pressed the "Play" button and they all listened intently.

Sanders' voice was instantly recognisable, talking to a woman.

'Is that you?' Gaskell asked Susan.

'Regrettably, yes.' Susan still refused to look at Hanssen. She was watching the reactions of the people around the table. Dismay, anger, shock, and all of it directed at the Chairman.

After the tape played, there was silence.

'Transcripts are here for anyone who wants them,' Susan said, slapping a sheaf of papers on the Boardroom table. 'I know I have no authority in this room, but my advice is to stop this utter bullshit and let a decent man get on with the job he does so well.' She glared at Sanders. 'FYI, that isn't you.'

She walked out of the room.

Immediately, Sanders was after her. 'Scheming bitch! I'll get you for this!'

As if by magic, the solid form of Ric Griffin appeared, blocking his way. 'I don't believe Mr. Hanssen has called an end to the meeting yet.'

'Indeed I have not.' Hanssen had no idea what prompted Susan to do such a thing, but he was beyond grateful. And ashamed. He had been too quick to misjudge her. What a magnificent woman she was, and she had just walked out of his life.

Not that he had time to dwell on that now. He shuffled papers, regaining his composure before addressing the assembled directors.

'It seems we're at something of a two-way street. I won't deny my personal life has caused something of a stir, but I must point out it is mainly due to the attempts of one man to sabotage my career, for reasons which will become clear in the near future, I'm sure.'

'Now look here, you pompous prick...'

'You've had your say, Mr. Sanders!'

The group jumped like startled rabbits. The Chairman clamped his mouth shut.

'As I was saying, the storm over my personal affairs will pass, as storms always do. A far more serious issue is the fact that our esteemed Chairman does not seem to be above threatening behaviour and blackmail. I cannot ignore that, and neither should any of you. As I see it, this unedifying behaviour can be dealt with in two ways. The most preferable way would be for Mr. Sanders to resign his position immediately, and what has been disclosed in this Boardroom will remain within these walls.'

Sanders rose from his chair again. 'The whore will sell that tape to the highest bidder. Never trust a slut. They're all the same!'

Hanssen kept hold of his anger with a supreme effort. 'It seems you are far more of an authority on the subject than I am, but let me be absolutely clear. Susan is a respectable woman, and I would be grateful if you could keep bar-room language out of this Boardroom!'

The two men faced off with equal venom.

'And the other way?' Professor Gaskell gently prompted.

Hanssen dragged his gaze away from Sanders. 'The other way to proceed would be for the Chairman to be ousted via a vote from the Board. And I would add one final thing. My priority is, as it has always been, the hospital, the people who work within it and the patients who come through our doors. If the Board feels that someone else would be better suited to the role of CEO, then so be it. These decisions are in your hands.'

 

******

 

'Are you okay?' Serena was pacing anxiously, waiting for Susan to emerge. They travelled down to the lobby together.

'Fine. I can't do any more. It's up to them.'

'Be careful of Sanders. He isn't the type of man to let things go.' Serena stopped and made Susan look at her. 'I'm serious. This isn't over. Not for you and especially not now.'

'Thanks. I'll watch my back.'

'Are you sure you're all right?'

Susan smiled wearily. 'It's nothing a large glass of vino wouldn't cure.'

'That sounds an excellent idea. Unfortunately, it's too early even for me.'

'I have a plane to catch anyway. Thanks, though. Keep me informed.' Susan kissed Serena's cheek.

'I will. Where are you going?'

'Road trip.' Susan blew her a kiss and walked out into the car park. The paparazzi had been dispersed by the hotel security staff and she was able to get to her car unmolested.

Her mood was light as she drove back to her house. Jordan was outside, helping a driver pile suitcases into a cab.

'How did it go?'

'I have no idea. Serena will tell me. I've done what I can.' They walked together around the house for one final check on switches and locks, passports and plane tickets. The sense of relief was profound when she finally shut the front door and went out to the waiting cab.

On the way to the airport, her phone chirped with an incoming text message.

Serena: _Sanders has resigned. HH still CEO x_

Susan smiled. The best possible outcome had been achieved. She texted back.

_Great news. Thanks for letting me know._

After a few minutes, another text appeared.

Hanssen: _Can we talk?_

'What is it?' Jordan peered over her shoulder. 'That's rich. It took you saving his job to realise he was wrong about you?'

Susan ignored him and texted back.

_Don't think for one moment you're forgiven._

Hanssen: _Is that yes or no?_

She replied: _I'm away for the next three weeks. Maybe when I get back._

'That's it?' Jordan said. He snatched the phone from her hand, pressed a couple of buttons and handed it back.

He had texted a kiss.

'Wait... what did you do that for? That's just totally undermined how mad I am at him!'

'Bitch, please relax. It wasn't even in capital letters. I just threw the guy a bone, that's all. Just a little bone. Tiny, tiny, tiny. I bet that made his night.' He hugged Susan to him. 'We're going to have a blast on this road trip. I can just tell.'

'I hate you so much sometimes.'

Life was a series of adventures, she thought. It was time for another one, if only to dull the pain she felt every time she thought of Henrik Hanssen. Only time and distance would tell if she would ever get over the way he had treated her.


	11. Conflagration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanssen discovers he can follow Susan's progress on-line, and it has become something of an obsession. 
> 
> Meanwhile, an unwelcome surprise greets Susan and Jordan when they return from their epic road trip, and disaster strikes.

Hanssen wasn't altogether happy to see Serena at his door. She had called ahead, and he had unwillingly but graciously agreed that she could pay him a house visit. After all, the weekend stretched ahead, long and empty, as had every weekend since Susan left the country.

The doorbell rang just as he was signing off another email. Her smile was deceptively cheerful.

'I just thought I'd drop by and see how you were.'

Splendid, thank you.' He stepped aside to let her through. 'Tea?'

'I suppose so, as it's too early for vino.' Serena looked around the gloomy room. 'Why do you always have the blinds down? It's a beautiful day out there.'

'Not for antique wood.' Hanssen motioned to a large mahogany bureau in the corner of the room.

'You need sunlight. Vitamin D and fresh air, especially...' His look stopped the words from escaping her lips. They had rarely talked about his depression or any other dangerous subjects, unless the conversation was initiated by him. As for Susan, he was reluctant to talk about her at all.

'Put the kettle on, then,' Serena said. 'I'm not leaving again until I've had a cup of tea at least.'

He pottered around the spotless kitchen, making tea for them both. When he went back into the sitting room, she was sitting at his desk. Instantly, he knew what she was looking at.

In the moments before her arrival, he had been scrolling through the blog Jordan had been writing about his grand road trip with Susan. As an amateur photographer, he wasn't bad, using Susan as his muse against various stunning backdrops. He referred to her as his "gal pal," and a "beautiful friend."

There she was, astride a gleaming chrome motorcycle, wearing nothing but a bikini top, cut-off shorts and spiked leather dog collar.

Or in hiking boots and a skimpy vest, channelling her inner Lara Croft at the Grand Canyon.

Sipping cocktails with mesh-vested male models at a San Francisco nightclub.

Snuggling up to a palomino horse, wearing matching flower garlands.

Kneeling on the sand with the surf foaming all round her, wearing a cheesecloth smock that clung damply to her skin, not quite hiding the darkness of her nipples.

'That's rather lovely,' Hanssen said, with a catch in his throat.

Serena coughed gently. 'I'm hardly going to disagree, but seeing her gallivanting around the US wearing next-to-nothing and partying with gay men isn't going to make you feel any better now, is it, Henrik? How on earth did you find these?'

'I must confess to engaging in a little light stalking. She looks as if she's having a good time.' Over the past few weeks he had stared at them until they were etched indelibly onto his memory. They conjured up all her fierce sexiness, yet hinted at the vulnerability he knew was behind the surface. The most recent photo was one of Susan standing on the top of their dust-covered Jeep, barefoot, giving the camera a smouldering glare.

'Hmmm.' Serena pulled the laptop towards her. 'I think Facebook might be more revealing. Or Instagram. The silly boy doesn't keep anything private does he? Look.'

She had found some more images, more natural and candid than the others. People had Liked and made comments, most beyond Hanssen's comprehension.

'It's a whole new language,' he said in wonder. 'Do you know what a ROFL is? Or a SMH?'

Serena side-eyed him. 'Does she look happy in this one?'

The photograph in question was a selfie of Jordan, grinning widely and holding up a cocktail, but behind him, Susan was looking bleakly out over the ocean. Someone had commented, "tell your gal pal she's on vacation, not at a funeral."

'You know what I think?'

'No, but I have a feeling you're about to tell me.'

'Henrik, listen, all those photos on the blog are a message to you. She wants you to see what you threw away, and you're lapping it up like a starving dog. Really, it's unseemly behaviour. And totally understandable. Bernie and I both agree she's wasted on a straight man. However, I believe there is a seed of hope. As much as I hate the thought of her being unhappy, she is obviously missing you. That ...' She pointed to Susan's pain-filled eyes on the screen. 'You made her look like that. Thinking you're the hard-done-by hero is completely missing the point.'

Hanssen folded himself into an easy chair and looked up at her. 'Well, I see you've been considering my affairs in some detail.'

Serena perched opposite him. 'As a matter of fact, I have. And whilst we're on the subject, have you thought what it is you really want? Can you honestly imagine sharing this place with another person?' She looked around the room and grimaced. 'It's very ... stark. Navy blue walls? Really?'

'So are we talking about my choices in women or my preferences in paint colour?'

'You've broken her heart once. Don't do it again because you didn't think through what it is you really want from her. This is a bachelor pad, Henrik. I can't imagine you'd want it any other way. If you're better on your own, you need to be honest with yourself. Just think about what I've said.'

'She may have already decided for both of us. I'm under no illusions she will want me back in her life.'

'If that's the case, she would look happier in those photographs. She cares for you. If she didn't, she wouldn't have done what she did at the Board meeting. Think about that.'

After Serena left later that night, Hanssen sat for a long time, imagining his life with another person. He knew his faults. He was a pedant, a perfectionist, an obsessive, single-minded and insular. His depression padded by his side like a large black shadow, ready to bite at unexpected moments. The emotional baggage he carried since his teens would never be left behind. Nor would the fact that he had a murderer for a son.

And yet Susan knew all of that. She wasn't a naive twenty-something, convinced she could make his woes all better. She was a woman who had experienced pain, and knew that life sometimes threw challenges at one's feet. Life wasn't sub/dom play. All bets were off, and control wasn't always in the hands of the players.

He poured a nightcap of single malt, then took both the glass and the laptop into his bedroom. His wide bed seemed emptier than ever. He stripped and slid between the cool sheets, then rested the computer on his lap. The whisky warmed his thoughts as he began to scroll through the images of Susan again.

******

The plane landed at Heathrow later than planned, the lights of London and its suburbs already sparkling like a diamond blanket below them.

Susan had slept for a good proportion of the journey, despite wanting to keep awake. The pace of the last three weeks had been full-on, punctuated by hours spent at various pools or the ocean. Jordan lived life at breakneck speed and was only willing to relax for a fairly short time.

Even so, they had had a blast, and had become closer as a result of their trip from Phoenix to San Francisco, via Utah and the Grand Canyon. He was a great driving buddy, full of enthusiasm, yet happy to keep quiet when he sensed she needed it.

She couldn't help thinking, more often than not, how different the trip would have been with Hanssen by her side. He would probably wear a ridiculous Panama hat to save his fair skin from burning, and his long legs would look like matchsticks in unfashionable shorts. Did he even possess a pair of shorts? She doubted it. Being Swedish, he would never have seen the use for them. And when he drove their Jeep, it would no doubt be with a cocktail of trepidation and extreme caution, the cars backing up behind them in a long, shimmering line as they drove across the Mojave desert.

Or maybe she was wrong. Maybe he had a gleeful side she hadn't discovered yet, one that landed them in tricky situations with the locals until his Swedish correctness and superlative command of the English language blagged them out of it. Maybe he had a secret urge to get a tattoo and party like it was 1999. God, maybe he would want them to get married in Vegas!

She didn't know, and that was the problem. She knew nothing about him, only the scant scraps he had thrown her way during their sessions together. One thing was certain. One didn't listen to Rachmaninov on Route 66. She would have to educate him on the raw sexuality of American rock.

'You're thinking about him again, aren't you?' Jordan said as they were just about to land. 'Even though I told you to stop weeks ago.'

'It's become a habit,' she said lightly.

The plane jolted as the wheels hit tarmac. Home.

It had been a wonderful trip, but she was glad to be back.

******

She didn't know what had woken her up. It seemed too early for jet lag to hit. The house was dark and quiet, but as she listened, she could hear Jordan moving about downstairs.

Now fully awake, she turned on the light and pulled on a thin robe before going out of the bedroom. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate would help her get back to sleep.

A dull thud came from the kitchen area.

'Jordan?'

As she went into the kitchen, it was obvious something was desperately wrong. A pool of blood was spreading on the floor towards her feet, emanating from Jordan's prone body. She ran to him. The wound was high up on his left side.

'What happened?

His eyes were terrified and he couldn't speak. His mouth opened but nothing came out. He seemed to be conveying some kind of warning, but as she reached for her bag to get her mobile phone, the lights went out.

In utter darkness, she groped for her bag, hoping to find her phone. There was a sound behind her, and something hard struck her on the back of the head. She collapsed over Jordan's body, in the pool of his blood.

When she woke again, she was still in the same position, cold and sticky, lying on something warm.

_Jordan._

A low moan made the hair on her neck stand up. There was someone else in the room.

It was still dark, but not quite as dark as before. A strange orange glow outside the window seemed to suggest day was breaking, but the air was thick with smoke.

The house was on fire.

They had to get out.

With a supreme effort, she reached up for her bag, dragging it down to the floor. Every movement seemed to take double the time it should have done. She felt around for her phone, praying there was enough battery to make a call.

'Hang on,' she said to Jordan, but the smoke caught in the back of her throat. Her fingers brushed against the slim casing of her phone. She pressed "999" and slumped back on the floor, exhausted. The smoke was getting thicker, the room hotter. Flames were licking around the doorway into the hallway.

'Fire ...' she whispered when the operator answered. The words were agonising to say, but the calm voice of the operator allowed her to think. She listened to the advice the woman gave then hauled herself up onto her feet. She was so dizzy, her head in so much pain, but she had to get Jordan out if she could. She took his arm and tried to drag him, but he was too heavy. Her feet slipped on the bloody tiles and she crashed to her knees. Sobbing in frustration, she dragged herself up again, using the large Belfast sink as support.

In the gloom, she could see something else on the floor. Another body, unmoving. One of her butcher's knives lay beside them.

She couldn't think about that right then. Once upright, the smoke was almost intolerable. She coughed, her hand over her mouth as she soaked tea towels, first wrapping one around her nose and mouth, and the other for Jordan.

'Someone attacked us,' she said to the operator, her voice almost gone.

In the distance, the heat from the fire broke the patio windows. The resulting crash spiked her fear. She could no longer speak, or think or move. The operator kept talking, but she had already lost consciousness.


	12. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems as if Hanssen and Susan will have the beautiful ending everyone is hoping for, but I'm going to make you work a little harder than that! Hanssen has a jealous side, and resents the presence of a family friend who is there to offer Susan support.

Consciousness returned slowly. She was aware of something over her face, and a pain behind her eyes. When she tried to blink, the inside of her eyelids felt as if they were lined with sandpaper.

She was in a bright room, with lights that hurt her eyes. Her head felt as if it were about to explode. Her throat felt as if she had walked across the Sahara without water.

Something was smothering her face. As she tried to remove it, gentle hands stopped her.

'Leave the mask on. It's oxygen to help you breathe. You've inhaled a lot of smoke,' a voice said. A kind male face came into focus. 'Welcome back, Susan.'

'How... do you know my name?' She swallowed painfully. Dominic Copeland held a plastic cup to her lips.

'Easy. Don't gulp it.'

'My throat hurts.'

'Because of the smoke. Can you remember what happened?'

She closed her eyes. The heat, something warm and sticky....

'Jordan! How is he?'

'He's in ITU. His condition is serious but stable.'

Her throat thickened with tears. She put up a hand to hide the pain, and saw a canula with two taps taped to the back of it.

'Fluids to replace those you lost. You were very dehydrated.'

She thought for a moment. 'I was on a long-haul flight.'

'Which explains a lot.' Dom held the cup to her lips again. 'Including the tan.'

'Is Jordan really going to be okay? He looked dead.' Hot tears rolled down her face.

'He lost a lot of blood, but we managed to save his kidney. It'll take a while but he should be fine.' Dom consulted his notes. 'Your CT scan came back clear. Can I offer you some pain relief? You should get some rest.'

'Yes, thank you.' She looked around her, noticing a large bouquet of white roses by her bedside. 'Who sent those?'

'Mr. Hanssen came in with them this morning. A nurse will bring you something to help you get comfortable.' He paused, seeming to make a decision. 'The police will want to talk to you when you feel up to it.'

'Yes, of course.' She frowned. 'There was someone else. They ....' she remembered. 'They attacked us! Are they here?' The thought made her stomach turn over.

Dom covered her hand with his own. 'Mr. Hanssen insisted they be transferred to St. James. They're under police guard until we find out what happened. I'll organise that pain relief.'

After he left, she gave into the tears, letting them fall unhindered onto her hospital robe.

 

******

 

The morphine helped her sleep, and when she woke again a few hours later, she felt marginally less crap than before. It was the next morning, and a sound close by revealed that the bed next to hers was occupied. Jordan looked as pale as death despite his tan. An obs monitor beeped softly, and overhead, a bag containing blood dripped slowly into a tube in his arm. He looked so vulnerable and sick, and her heart bled for him.

After a while, Dom entered the room.

'I'm feeling better,' she said, when he asked.

'You'll be here for a couple of days yet, just to make sure we haven't missed anything. That was quite a blow to the head. Your CT scan came back clear but Mr. Hanssen wants you to have another one later today."

She closed her eyes so he couldn't see the pain. "Right."

"And I don't want to pressurise you, but the police...' He looked towards the window into the main ward.

'It's fine. I want to tell them what I know.'

Dom smiled sympathetically. 'Okay. I'll send them in.'

Half an hour later, she was ready to sleep again. The gentle questioning had exhausted her, but the relief that her assailant was in police custody was monumental. They had been very interested in hearing about John Sanders' threats before she and Jordan left the country. The man he had hired to do his dirty work was only too willing to name and shame him, if it meant gleaning a lighter prison sentence for himself. As a direct result, Sanders had been charged with two counts of attempted murder.

 

******

 

When she woke, a sound close by revealed the bed next to hers was occupied. Jordan looked as pale as death despite his tan. An obs monitor beeped softly, and overhead, a bag containing blood dripped slowly into a tube in his arm. He looked so vulnerable and sick, and her heart bled for him.

Tony was also there, bearing gifts. He put chocolates, a basket of fruit and bouquet of summer flowers on her bedside cabinet, almost but not quite eclipsing the white roses.

"There you are, sleeping beauty," he remarked, kissing her cheek. 'How are ya, babe? You should look better than this after a three-week vaycay.'

He was a breath of fresh air. Her headache had gone and she felt her mood lifting.

'I can't wait to get back home.'

Tony's smile slipped. 'Didn't they tell you?'

'I've been asleep most of the time. Tell me what?'

'Susan, it's gone. The house is gone.' He held her hands. 'Sorry, I thought someone would have told you before now.'

'The fire... destroyed all of it?'

'Yeah, apart from the garage. Your Jag is still there, pristine.'

She half-sobbed, half-laughed. 'Thank God. I'll have somewhere to sleep then.'

'You can stay with me. For as long as it takes to sort yourself out.'

She looked over at Jordan, still in a drug-induced slumber. 'What about him? He's lost everything as well. Christ, we don't even have any underwear!'

"Don't worry about that. What do you need?'

She tried to think. "Just .... stuff. I don't know. My mind is blank." Her eyes filled with tears again.

"Hey, it's okay." He put his hand over hers.

She smiled bravely. 'We'll work something out.'

'Yeah, but you don't have to worry, okay? This is only a flying visit. I'll be back this evening after I've sorted some stuff out for you."

After he left, Susan was left reeling from the news. It was too overwhelming. All the memories she had of her late husband, all the photos, the furniture they had collected over the years, everything had been destroyed. She couldn't compute it. The task was too great.

Her thoughts turned to Hanssen. Was he in the building? Where was he?

Then she remembered the roses. Amidst them was a card, with strong handwriting in black ink.

_Nunc scio quid sit amor – H_

She had no idea what it meant. For want of something better to do, she eased herself off the bed and escorted her drip bag out to the main ward. Once upright, she felt as weak as a semi-drowned kitten, but the urge to use the bathroom had also kicked in.

Immediately, Dom ran towards her.

'What are you doing? You shouldn't be out of bed yet.'

'I need the toilet. Do you know what this means?' They walked slowly along the corridor, Dom frowning at the card.

'I never did Latin at school. There you go. Don't lock the door.' He motioned to a nurse to wait outside the bathroom. 'I'll see what I can find out.'

'No, it's...' Too late, he was heading off down the corridor. The nurse smiled up at her, waiting for her to go inside.

When she emerged, it was with a sense of dread, imagining five people gathered round the card, trying to figure out what it meant. What if he had written something intensely private? Or, God forbid, erotic?

The nurse helped her back into bed. That little jaunt had exhausted her. Dom came in with the card and a piece of paper with the translation. He smiled, winked and left again.

_Now I know what love is._

She considered the words, unsure whether to be angry or comforted. It wasn't exactly an apology, or was it Hanssen's unique way of apologising?

She ran her thumb over the carefully inked words, imagining his pen hovering over the small card, possibly thinking "I'm sorry," was inadequate or too trite, then finally resorting to his classical education to find an elegant solution. A smile flickered across her lips. She didn't need anger. There would be plenty of that towards the bastard who burned down her house. Comfort was preferable.

She was still holding the card when she fell asleep.

 

******

 

In the evening she had a stream of visitors, all bringing bags with clothing for her and Jordan, offers of accommodation and other forms of help. Tony had been busy, rounding up the troops. He turned up just as visiting time was ending.

'I've contacted the insurance people. You don't have to do anything. Some lads have moved the fireproof safe and some other stuff to a lock-up. We managed to rescue some things but a lot of it was water damaged.'

'You've done more than I could ever hope for.'

'Hey, we're family, remember?' He drew her into a hug. 'I've got your back, Susy. You and Jordan. It'll be okay, I promise.'

A dark presence appeared in the doorway, making them both look up.

'What's he doing here?' Tony rose menacingly to face the new visitor.

'Tony ...'

'Take my advice and piss off. She doesn't want to be bothered by you.'

'Is that so?' Hanssen stepped into the room and picked up the clipboard on the end of Susan's bed.

'What the hell? That's private!'

'Tony....'

'Who do you think you are, mate?' Tony prodded Hanssen in the chest.

'I'm the CEO of this hospital and Mrs. Winser's consultant. And I believe visiting time finished five minutes ago.' Hanssen looked pointedly at his watch, then back at Tony.

'Oh, right.' Tony had the wind taken out of his sails.

"Tony's been very good to me," Susan said firmly. 

"Well, that's admirable but now you need to leave the care to the experts." Hanssen gave Tony a full-wattage glare.

"I am an expert, especially at looking after the ladies. A lot better than you, anyway." Tony grinned to rub in the insult. He kissed Susan on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, babe. If he gives you any trouble, he'll have to _consult_ with me." He walked out, slapping Hanssen on the back as he went.

Hanssen's lips compressed as he looked back at Susan.

"What a charming man."

"He's like my younger brother, so I suggest you're a little more polite."

Hanssen placed his stethoscope in his ears. 'I need to listen to your chest.' He perched on the bed next to her. The stethoscope felt cold against her skin.

"I didn't have you down as a possessive man. It isn't your best quality."

'Deep breaths for me, please.'

She obeyed, feeling unnerved at being so close to him again. He smelled of sandalwood soap and exuded quiet authority. She was still furious with him, yet that didn't stop her wanting to rub her face against his jacket like an affectionate cat.

'Your lungs sound a lot clearer and your latest scan has also come back with no issues. Are you in any pain?'

She gave him a challenging glare. 'Not physically, no.'

'Good. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I'll be happy to discharge you tomorrow.'

'Right.'

There was a long silence.

'Are you...?'

'I'm sorry...'

He smiled tentatively. 'You go first."

"Oh no, I believe you have something to say to me first."

 He took her hand. "I'm so sorry I hurt you.'

He looked and sounded so sincere. Almost by its own volition, her hand reached up to stroke his cheek. He covered it with his own, pain showing in his eyes.

'I seem to have this innate ability to hurt the people I care about.'

She drew her hand away. 'So why did you immediately think I had something to do with those photographs? I thought we were beginning to trust each other.'

'I think ...' Hanssen smoothed the sheet underneath his fingers. 'Trust is possibly something I need to work on.'

'Possibly?' She stared at him in disbelief.

'Probably,' he revised carefully.

She waited.

'Definitely?' He suggested after a pregnant pause.

'Yes, why not try "definitely" for size? You might find it fits.'

'I don't know how to make it up to you. I hope I can, in some way.'

She wasn't going to let him off that easily. 'Probably not with steak. I don't think I can face going to that restaurant again.'

He squirmed uncomfortably. 'That's ... understandable.'

He looked so downcast, she felt everything within her melting again. His remorse was plain to see. She had spent too long harbouring anger towards him, yet missing him with every fibre of her being. Still, she couldn't just forget what he had done. Other women might be able to, but she wasn't one of them.

"I'm not sure this can go unpunished,' she said slowly.

He looked up at her, his hazel eyes sparking into life. "I think you should elucidate."

"You committed a serious misdemeanour, after all. It will take a few days to organise. Anticipation of punishment is almost as painful as the punishment itself.'

He looked grave. 'I believe that to be the case, Lady Gabrielle.'

She beckoned to him to move closer, then brushed her lips against his, catching his lower lip between her teeth and tugging it gently. A small whimper escaped him as she let him go.

'Get a room, you two,' Jordan said weakly from the next bed.

Immediately, Hanssen pulled away and leapt to his feet.

'Glad to see you're awake, Mr. Stapleton.' He cleared his throat to banish the huskiness from his voice and gave Jordan's notes great consideration. 'How are you managing the pain?'

'She's leaving tomorrow, so I'll be fine."

Hanssen was uncomprehending. 'I'm sorry?'

Jordan rolled his eyes. 'God, Susan, you didn't tell me he was such a stiff.'

Susan laughed at the way Hanssen involuntarily glanced down and closed his jacket. He looked endearingly awkward, muttering an excuse and rapidly leaving the room. One of the nurses came in to give Jordan morphine and check on his obs.

'I think he's smitten with you,' Jordan whispered when the woman left.

Susan carefully rose to her feet. She still felt weak, but that was from all the morphine and inactivity over the past few days. It was nice to be moving about again. A few days previously, she had felt at her best. It was shocking how fast everything could change. Perching on Jordan's bed, she told him the situation. 

"Shit," Jordan said, closing his eyes. 

 

Right then, Susan couldn't think of a better word to sum up their situation. She kissed his cheek.

"We're fierce queens, remember? We'll survive."

 

 

******

 

Saturday morning, and Susan was ready to leave. The back of her head still hurt if she moved too quickly, but it was bearable. After giving Jordan a careful hug and promising to return that evening, she went out to the nurses and gave them the chocolates Tony had brought.

'You deserve these more than I do.' She gave Dom an extra warm hug.

Hanssen was waiting for her, dressed in neatly pressed dark trousers and a casual checked shirt. He soon found his arms full of flowers and bags, which he dutifully carried to his car whilst Susan completed her thank yous and goodbyes.

Jac and Fletch watched from the stairwell as she left.

'She's got him wrapped around her little finger,' Fletch said.

'Quite right, too.' Jac gave Fletch's firm bum a healthy pinch as she continued on to Darwin.

Susan settled into Hanssen's Volvo and looked around. It looked and smelled freshly valeted, yet she suspected it was the normal state of affairs for him.

She had booked into a country hotel not far from the hospital, which had the advantages of a spa. Already, she had arranged a massage and facial for the following morning.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' Hanssen asked as he belted himself into the driving seat. They were going to assess the damage to the house before heading on to the hotel. She didn't want to do it, but knew she had to.

'Positive.' She took a deep breath. The sooner she faced it, the sooner she would be able to move on. 'Brace yourself for an unseemly outpouring of emotion, though.'

 _Christ, she was beginning to sound like him._ He gave her one of his gentle smiles and started the engine.

The weather was cold and gloomy for August, but that suited her growing mood as they drew nearer the house. Up the driveway, all seemed normal, until the burned-out wreckage came into view. The police had put tape and Do Not Enter signs all around it.

As she stood in the driveway, staring at it, she felt Hanssen's hand upon her shoulder. She flinched away and walked around the side of the house into the garden, then looked from the grass up towards the blackened mass.

The roof had gone, showing a few sooty timbers sticking randomly into the air. The windows had smashed and were bleeding black, smoky smudges. Tattered remains of curtains lifted and fell in the breeze, and the whole place reeked of astringent wet ash.

'Susan?'

She held up her hand to stop him. An anger was building inside her. At Sanders, at the man who did all the damage, at the loss of all the memories she had of her past life.

To add insult, the fire brigade had walked through her rose garden to fight the flames, leaving the flowers tattered and ruined in broken pieces. Water was everywhere, filthy, stinking, finishing the job the fire had started. Shards of glass formed threatening barriers to any who would wish to enter.

She could feel the anger overwhelming her as she picked up a broken brick. Only one window remained in the patio door, almost defiantly and against all the odds. She hurled the brick against it, but the glass was toughened, and the missile bounced off, leaving a small circular splinter.

A primeval scream of frustration ripped from her. She hurled the brick again, and again until the window was peppered with cracks. Finally, she fell to the ground, exhausted, and buried her head in her hands. Hanssen sat on the filthy ground and held her tightly, rocking her whilst she wept.


	13. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks fly as Jordan slowly recovers from his ordeal, and Hanssen is given a stern talking-to by his new obsession. But a night of passion isn't all Susan is after. She expects him to pay for the way he treated her before. 
> 
> However, first they have to kiss and make up...

Thursday afternoon saw Susan back at the hospital to see Jordan. The preceding few days had been strange, an emotional rollercoaster, punctuated by moments of calm in the hotel spa. She preferred to be on her own to deal with what had happened, rather than be with anyone, including Hanssen. The residual hurt was still there, despite his support and sincere words. She knew it wasn't going to go away just because she had kissed him once.

At least she had somewhere to live. That morning she had signed a tenancy agreement on a small cottage in one of the outlying villages near Holby. The property would be ready the following week, and she could start to move on. Living in a hotel had advantages, but she craved some semblance of normality.

Dom updated her on Jordan's progress. He was recovering well, and was managing to eat without feeling nauseous. It wouldn't be long before he was allowed home, wherever that would turn out to be.

Jordan seemed glum when she went into see him, totally unlike his usual snippy, witty self. It was clear something was bothering him.

'What's up?' She assumed it was the same thing she was trying to deal with. Their lives had to start over, and knowing where to begin seemed insurmountable at times.

'I'm sorry,' he said, his eyes wet with tears. 'I know the fire was my fault. Everything is my fault!'

She wrapped her arms around him. 'What the hell has brought this on? How can you even think that?'

'If I hadn't put those photos on Facebook for the world to see, no-one would even know we were back! I practically told Sanders what you were doing, when we were coming home. Honestly, I didn't realise what I was posting was public. I just assumed it was for friends only. Jesus, I can't believe I was so stupid.' He looked up at her in horror. 'What if that comes up at his trial? What if he gets off because his defence can prove...'

'What? No, that's ridiculous! Why are you thinking like this?' Any annoyance she felt at realising her photographs were there for public consumption was eclipsed by his obvious dismay. 'You can change the settings to Private, can't you?'

'I already did, but Hanssen said...'

She drew away from him. 'What did Hanssen say?'

'Don't get mad at him. He's right. He .... where are you going? Susan! I said don't get mad ...'

She went out into the main ward and found Dom.

'Where's Hanssen?'

'In his ivory tower, I expect. Is anything wrong?'

'Actually, Dr. Copeland, I'm right here.' Hanssen's gravelled voice made them both turn.

'I need a word. Now.' Susan kept her voice level with an effort.

'Please step this way, Mrs. Winser.' Hanssen's tone was polite but his eyes were wary.

 

******

 

'Grab the popcorn. This is going to be good,' Fletch said to Dom. They loitered near the door, listening to the raised voices.

'What the hell were you doing, telling Jordan he's to blame for the fire? Is this your idea of a bedside manner? He's a complete mess!' Susan was trying not to shout, but failing.

'The truth can sometimes hurt.' Hanssen busied himself behind the desk, shuffling patient files. 'I was just giving him cold, hard facts, that's all.'

'Is that right? So says the self-confessed Luddite with no interest in social media. Perhaps you should stick to what you know. Is it your goal in life to make everyone as miserable as possible?'

'She's good at this,' Dom said to Fletch.

Hanssen slammed the files down on the desk and glared at her. 'The fact is, Sanders would never have known your movements if Mr. Stapleton had used a modicum of discretion! As for you...'

'Yes? Go on, say it!'

'I've already said what needed to be said. You can shoot the messenger if you want. It doesn't make the fact any less than the truth.'

'And you think that hadn't occurred to him already? He's thirty-four, not sixteen!'

'So he should have known to be more careful.'

'I happen to agree, but right now he needs love and care, not a lecture from a sanctimonious string bean!'

Hanssen looked at her over the top of his glasses. 'I'm disappointed, Mrs. Winser. I expected a more eloquent response from you. Instead you've aimed for the lowest common denominator. Or in my case, the highest.' His smile was benign.

Dom and Fletch looked at each other. 'Love all,' Dom said. They listened again.

Susan swallowed her temper back down. 'Fine, but how come you knew about the photos he took anyway, if you never use social media?'

There was a long pause. 'I've been following your progress on Mr. Stapleton's blog. It was very enlightening.'

Susan's snort of laughter made both Fletch and Dom jump.

'Is that right? We both know why you were looking at those photos. I don't mind if you use them to fuel your jerk-off fantasies, but do me the courtesy of being honest about it.'

Not waiting for him to respond, she walked out the door, running straight into Dom and Fletch.

'Did you enjoy the show?' Her voice was acid.

'I think you won.' Fletch flashed a grin and disappeared.

Jordan looked apprehensive when she returned. 'What did you say to him?'

'I just put him straight on a few things.' She folded her arms protectively around her body, pacing the room.

'You didn't need to do that. He's a good man, Susan. We had a great conversation this morning...'

'So why didn't you start with that?' She was furious with him. 'I've just torn him a new arse because you said...'

'Jesus, will you relax already! I know this is stressful but you don't have to yell at me!'

'I'm not yelling!"

A gentle cough announced Hanssen's presence. Suddenly, the room was claustrophobic. She'd had enough of both of them.

'I need coffee,' she muttered, not meeting Hanssen's eyes. She pushed past him and escaped to the lift.

She went to the cafe, bought a takeaway cappuccino and a Mars Bar and went to sit in the small memorial garden. For a while she tried to make sense of the odd sculpture erected in memory of Raf di Lucca.

Nope. It wasn't happening. Even her life made more sense than that.

After a while, Hanssen joined her on the bench, stretching out his long legs in front of him. For a while they just sat, watching the hospital doors open and close.

'I'm sorry,' she said at length. 'I misunderstood what Jordan was saying.'

'No, you didn't. I was angry with him.'

'It isn't really your place to be angry. I'm not. It was a silly mistake but no-one could have predicted this.'

'I nearly lost you.'

She sipped her coffee. 'Technically, you never really had me in the first place.'

'I'm serious, Susan. You nearly died. I wanted to retaliate and Jordan was the easiest target. I've apologised to him, The delivery was ... not acceptable, though I stand by the message I was trying to convey.'

She glanced at his neatly-pressed, elegant form, soft, dark curls and sensual lips. He was so correct, so stiff despite his way with words. Repressed, definitely, and troubled, absolutely. Could she take on a man like that?

Then she remembered how he had made her feel, before his monumental screw-up. Protective and protected, cherished, respected. He had a steel backbone, and a core of lasciviousness only she had been able to tap into. There were plenty of reasons why their relationship might not work. But even more reasons as to why it would.

The air was heavy with rain. As she lifted her face to the sky, the first drops fell upon her skin.

'Will you dance with me in the rain? Not right now, but would you? Spontaneously and without embarrassment? Would you put up with my singing in the shower and not sulk when I burn the dinner?'

She looked directly at him so he could see how serious she was.

'Are you a possessive man, Hanssen? Would you feel threatened by my friends and make my life difficult if I wanted to spend time with them?'

He looked sadly at her. 'I can't be a facsimile of your late husband, Susan. I have my own ...'

'I'm well aware of that. I don't want a carbon copy of David. Absolutely not. This time I want an equal partnership, built on love, yes, but also respect and trust. I'm not a chattel, something to put on a pedestal and treat like a precious ornament, but someone you can talk to, to retreat to, to laugh and love with. I can't be anything less. If you want me, you need to understand that.'

She left him to digest her words.

 

******

 

'So what did you say?'

It was the following evening. Serena poured more Shiraz for herself. Hanssen nursed a modest glass of Pinot Grigio, as yet untouched.

'I haven't responded yet. I believe we both need some time.'

'For God's sake, Henrik, how much time do you need? She's travelled thousands of miles thinking about you! She's told you what she needs. If you can't step up to that you need to tell her as soon as possible.'

'I'm not sure how to go about telling her anything. It's been rather a long time since...'

'You don't have to tell me.' Serena snatched his phone before he could stop her, and began typing. 'How about this?'

She had written, _I want to be everything you need._

'It's a little cryptic, don't you think?"

Serena gave him an impatient look and typed again.

 _Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori_.

'Ah, one can never go wrong with Virgil.' Then Hanssen frowned. 'I've already tried Latin. She had to look it up. Rather kills the moment, I believe.'

Serena's exasperation grew. She deleted the phrase and typed rapidly.

_I love you. Let's fuck._

'Now you're being ridiculous."

"Why? It's to the point, unequivocal. There's no way she's going to mistake the meaning behind that." 

"I'm not sure that's exactly the message I want to be conveying right now." Hanssen smartly took the phone back from Serena. As he did so, another notification came up. 

_Message Sent_

"Oh no." He stared at Serena in horror. "I sent it to her!"

'Oh God, Henrik!' Serena clapped her hand to her forehead. 'You really are your own worst enemy!'

His phone beeped with an answering text.

_Lady Gabrielle does not respond to crude attempts to gain her attention._

He tried to suppress a smile, and failed. Immediately, he texted back. 

_You just did._

Serena cleared her throat. "And ... what's happening now?"

"Seems the blunt approach gleaned results."

Another message came in.

_Holstead Hall @ 8pm. I trust you haven't eaten._

That earned a raised eyebrow from Serena.

'Well, it looks like you've been summonsed."

 

******

 

He splayed out his fingers and watched them. There was a definite tremor. What if that text had gone to someone else in error? Someone who was now planning a terrible trick on him?

As he waited in the grand reception area, looking up at a huge oil painting above an ornate fireplace, he warned himself not to have any high expectations. Susan was still angry with him. That much was obvious. And sending that ridiculous message wouldn't have helped. He nervously straightened his tie for the fourth time and checked his cufflinks, then looked at his watch again.

It was ten past eight. 

So this was the punishment, to keep him waiting, or maybe not turn up at all. He wondered how long he should wait for her. An hour? Half an hour?

A waiter came over and asked if he would like a drink. The question flummoxed him. A double brandy was most appealing, but the chances were, he would soon be driving home. Coffee? No, just in case there was a chance of kissing her. In the end he asked for water. His throat was dry and he was desperate to leave before everyone realised he had been stood up.

A soft cough made him look up. She was standing them, looking like a goddess in a figure-hugging dress that showed off both her lovely shoulders and generous bosom. He stood up so quickly, she was forced to take a step back. Her demeanour was calm. 

"Shall we go through to the dining room now?"

He nodded, unable to speak, and followed her meekly into the large, gilt and brocade-embellished room. When they had sat down and were given menus, she smiled at him. 

"You seem rather less eloquent than you were earlier, Mr. Hanssen."

"Ah, yes, about that..."

She looked at him over the top of her menu. "Hmmm... I believe we have a few issues to discuss, one of them being not letting your friends play with your phone. Really, I thought you would know better, you being so _au fait_ with the perils of social media.'

He decided to play along. "Touche, Lady Gabrielle. More importantly, how is your head?"

"I haven't had any complaints." Her expression was deadpan. 

He realised he was staring at her, slack-jawed. She looked innocently back at him. 

"Something the matter?"

The image in his head had turned his thoughts to slush. Scant composure ruined, he could do nothing but drink her in. 

"Now this is getting awkward," she said after a few moments of silence. "My head is fine. I haven't experienced any headaches, nausea, dizzy spells, blurred vision or another other symptoms that could cause alarm. I'm going to have the venison. I suggest you do the same."

He hesitated, trying to compute what she had said. "Of course." 

"What is it? Don't you like it when I take control?"

 "On the contrary. I like it." His voice was a growl. There was no way he could actually stand up even if he wanted to. Just watching her had given him an intense erection that wasn't going to go away any time soon. 

"So, what prompted your text earlier this evening?"

"Isn't that obvious?" 

She sighed deeply. "I'm assuming that wasn't what you originally intended to say."

"No, of course..."

"So what do you want to say to me, Henrik? And why is it so difficult for you?"

"You're angry with me. I understand that. I'd like ..." He took a deep breath. "I was intending to ask you for a coffee, to start again. To, ah, _court_ you in the way you deserve, not ... this."

"You're not enjoying yourself?"

"Yes! I mean, you look ..." He groped for the appropriate word. "Hot." As soon as he said it, he knew it was wrong. 

She suppressed a giggle, then began to laugh. "Oh, Henrik, is that the best you can come up with?"

"Damn it, Susan, I want to fuck you!" 

The dining room had gone quiet. He looked around and saw faces looking back at him, eyes wide, some shocked, some amused. 

Susan stood up, her face unreadable. He had screwed up. Again. 

"I'm sorry..." 

She took his hand. "Come on. We're going to my suite."

"I didn't... I mean..."

"I know what you meant."

He obeyed. As they left the dining room, he heard someone give a wolf-whistle. His instinctive cringe of embarrassment was immediately replaced by pride. He was with a stunning woman, being led up to her bedroom. She had made him feel like he was king of the world.

 

 ******

 

They were barely in the room before he grabbed her round the waist and pushed her up against the wall. Their kisses were fast and feverish. He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her finger against his lips. Instead, he buried his face in her neck and breathed her in, She loved the hot wetness of his breath, the lust-crazed darkness of his eyes behind the slender glass frames.

"What happened to coffee and talk?" She asked teasingly as he pressed kisses down her throat towards her breasts. He loomed over her again, staring into her eyes. 

"It can wait." As he kissed her again, she mused how much he had changed. The reticence was gone, and he was an assured man leading her to the bed, peeling the dress from her shoulders, following the curve of her neck with his lips. 

"I don't think your punishment can wait," she said, her voice catching as he teased her nipple with his tongue. She tugged at his hair to make him look at her again. "Henrik..."

"I don't want to play games tonight," he growled. He scooped his hands under her bottom and lifted her as she wound her arms around his neck. Carrying her over to the bed, his lips found hers again. Together they fell on the wide mattress. Smoothly, he caught her underneath him and kicked his shoes off at the same time.  

Carefully she removed his glasses and reached over to put them on the bedside cabinet, sighing with pleasure as he opened her dress and freed one of her breasts to give the nipple lavish attention.

'Keep still,' he whispered as she squirmed against him. He moved ever downwards, peeling the dress away. When she was just in bra and panties he dropped a kiss on her navel before feathering her pubis with gentle breath. This was new. He hadn't ventured so far south before. She held her breath as she felt careful fingers pulling the delicate material of her underwear to one side. Gently, he explored her until she was whining with pleasure, hips undulating as she pushed against his tongue.

"You're so good," she breathed. He seemed perfectly attuned to her body's needs, playing her until she was shimmering with sensation, wrenching hoarse cries from her as she gave him to wave after orgasmic wave. Whilst she was still peaking, he moved back up and kissed her deeply, sharing her essence, his hand possessively around her throat as he filled her completely, continuing the ecstasy rippling throughout her body. She felt him convulse, his groan muffled against her lips. Wrapping her legs around his, she held him tightly as the tremors passed through them both.

Afterwards they lay in a tangle of limbs, him still mostly dressed. 

"I want to be everything you need," he said softly, the words feathering against her skin. 

She shifted to look at him, lying in the wreckage of his three piece suit, watching her as a thirsty man would eye a cool glass of water. 

"You already are." She leaned down to kiss him, her hand sliding inside his trouser zip. Instantly his body reacted to her touch, his penis swelling again in her hand. 

'I haven't forgotten my punishment,' he said, a long while later.

'Good, because the misdemeanours are stacking up nicely.' She nuzzled him. 'I'll see what I can arrange.'

 

******

 

A week later, he arrived in his office after lunch to find an intriguing package on his desk. Quality cream card, fashioned into a carton, and held together with a black bow. A gold envelope was propped against it.

He opened the card and read the message.

_Lady Gabrielle demands your presence tonight. You will be picked up by chauffeur at 6 o'clock exactly. Please wear the item contained in the package._

Hanssen smiled to himself. He had been anticipating this for days, and Susan refused to give him any idea when or what was going to happen.

He opened the box, removed the black tissue paper and drew out a brushed steel collar, similar to the one he had worn in her playroom. A small ball slid out to reveal a hinge, to enable the wearer to put it on. After staring thoughtfully at it, he loosened his tie, unfastened the top button of his shirt and put the collar around his neck. Its presence reminded him of Susan, or Lady Gabrielle, to be more precise.

He went to take the collar off again, then changed his mind, buttoning up his shirt and replacing his tie. There was a pressure at his throat. Not uncomfortable, but ever-present, reminding him of what was to come that night. A small smile ghosted over his lips.

It was time for ward rounds.


	14. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, you thought I was going to fade to black after the last element? Nope. Nuh uh. This is for those who want to see Henrik get his just deserts. After all, he has to suffer a bit after treating Susan so shabbily. A simple bunch of roses and whispered apologies just won't cut it.

Hanssen hovered awkwardly by his car. He wasn't sure how he felt about being chauffeur-driven to God only knew where, with no way of returning.

A long black Mercedes with blacked-out windows pulled up next to him, and the driver's window descended.

'Hanssen?'

'Yes.'

The driver cocked his head towards the back. 'Get in.'

It wasn't his idea of first class service, either, but he did as he was bid. A woman was already inside, pouring him a glass of champagne. It took a moment for him to realise it was Susan. She wore a black leather trench coat, belted, and thigh-high boots laced all the way up. The heels were wickedly sharp. He couldn't tell whether she wore anything underneath the coat, but suspected it wasn't much.

She handed him the glass, and the car smoothly began to move.

'Pardon the theatrics, but in the absence of my playroom, I've had to come up with an alternative solution.'

'Indeed.' He was feeling out of his depth and uneasy.

'Listen to what I have to say, and you'll be fine.' She didn't look at him as she spoke. 'We're going to a private club. I know the owner well. When we get there, don't be alarmed. There will be other people in the club, doms and subs, doing their thing. What they are doing isn't your business, and our business isn't theirs. Understand?'

She turned to him. Despite the dark interior, she was wearing cats-eye sunglasses, giving her a strangely impersonal appearance.

'I believe I do, yes,' he said formally.

'I believe you don't, so listen. You do not look anyone in the eye. Doms are very protective of their subs, and I will be required to discipline you publicly if you pay anyone any attention. Do not catch the attention of the doms. They will punish you without hesitation, and my standing in the club will be diminished, meaning that I will also punish you.'

'How do I know which is which?'

She laughed. 'You'll know, but don't stare. It is considered the height of insubordination. I cannot stress this strongly enough. Do you have any further questions?'

'Will we be on our own in the room? I don't think I'm ready...'

She looked at him again, a slight smile on her face.

'That implies you might be in the future. Interesting.' She sipped her champagne, watching him.

'No, I meant...'

'Hush. Are you wearing the present I gave you?'

'Will we be alone?' Hanssen was insistent. He didn't like the thought of going to a strange place, and not knowing if the room was rigged with cameras. The last thing he needed was suspect footage finding its way onto the internet.

'We will definitely be alone. No cameras, no evidence. And the room is soundproofed.' She peeled off her sunglasses so he could see how sincere she was. 'It will be fine, but if you're not happy, you can say your safe word and we'll leave immediately.'

Hanssen took a deep breath. Seeing her face and hearing her promise made him feel a lot better. He resolved to enjoy the night, whatever it might bring. 'Thank you.'

'Are you wearing my present?' She asked again.

He nodded, loosening his tie to show her.

'Good. Do you have any other questions?'

'What if someone recognises me?'

She gave the question consideration. 'The guest list is strictly confidential. Everyone has something to lose if they're recognised from real life. As I said, there are no cameras, no phones, nothing to enable photographs, recordings or videotapes. What happens at the house, stays at the house. However, if you're concerned, you can wear this.' She brought out a soft leather hood, with zips for the eyes and mouth. He looked at it with distaste.

'No, thank you.'

'Fair enough. Trust is an issue for all of us. Not just you. Anything else?'

'No.' He fought feelings of unease together with a mounting anticipation. Whatever happened, it would be unforgettable.

She put her sunglasses back on. 'The game is now in play.' She produced a silver chain from her coat pocket and fastened the carabina to the collar around Hanssen's neck, then attached large, highly polished cuffs to his wrists. They did not speak again until the car swung into a wide driveway and stopped outside an unremarkable 1930s house.

'Follow me. Eyes down. Don't talk,' Susan instructed, as the chauffeur opened the door for her. She exited the car, leading Hanssen behind her. He felt ridiculous until the door opened, then nerves set in.

'Trust me,' Susan murmured. She was greeted with a hug by a woman in a wet-look corset and fishnet stockings, her breasts swinging free. She looked Hanssen up and down, as if he were a prize stallion. He kept his attention to the floor.

'Very nice. And very well trained.' Her voice was like honey. 'I'm impressed, Lady Gabrielle.'

'Thank you, Madame.'

'The room is ready. Last on the left. Go right though.'

Susan led Hanssen past the woman, who gave his backside a rough squeeze. His eyes widened in alarm and she chuckled raucously.

'You need to fatten him up a bit,' she called as Susan led him down the corridor.

Hanssen could still feel the imprint of the woman's fingers on his right buttock. He looked around the room, which was warm and cocooning, smelling familiarly of the essential oils Susan used in her playroom. Calm descended over him. Now they were alone, he felt safe.

The room was not large, with a St. Andrew's Cross hulking in one corner. A strange contraption was suspended in the middle of the room.

Susan came up to him and took off his jacket. These moves were familiar. He knew what to expect. Obediently he undressed and put on the black silk boxers, not meeting her gaze. That part of the proceedings always felt awkward, even now they were lovers. 

She nodded in approval. "Good. Now sit." She motioned to the thing suspended from the ceiling by heavy-duty black chains. It looked like a swing, only a lot more sinister. He glanced doubtfully at her. 

"It's quite safe. Sit." The command was clear. 

Carefully, he sat in the strange device. As she began fastening his ankles and wrists to sturdy cuffs, she explained the usage. 

"It's rather like a horizontal cross, only suspended, obviously, and a lot more comfortable. The experience is different, due to the feeling of weightlessness. How does that feel?"

By the time she had finished, he was lying on his back, arms and legs spread wide apart. Apart from the inelegance of the position, it was rather more comfortable than he had been expecting. The canvas sling supported his body, although the chains on his arms and legs meant they could move at will. It was a very vulnerable position, with no way of protecting his tender areas from her ministrations.

"I feel slightly ridiculous,' he confessed. 

"You'll forget that in a moment." She stood between his thighs and placed her hand on his silk-covered penis. Instantly, it began to thicken.

"Sorry, I can't help it," he said.

She gently palpated the growing bulge. "Don't be sorry. I want you as hard as possible." 

As he succumbed to the pleasure of her touch, he knew she had been right. His strange position meant nothing. The light stroking of her fingertips cancelled out any self-consciousness. His hips lifted towards her hand, tacitly encouraging her touch, but instead, she drew away. By that time he was solid and panting, thirsting for more of her.

'Here's how this is going to play out,' she said, her voice neutral. 'You need to see the error of your ways, and to understand that there are certain things you don't do if you want me to be good to you. One of them is humiliating me, either in public or in private. Respect and trust has been broken, and in order for them to be rebuilt, you need to relearn them.'

As she was talking, she slowly unfastened her coat, unleashing the belt, undoing each button, and finally peeling the garment away. Underneath, she wore an expensive looking wine-coloured bra and panties, with a matching suspender belt. The classy underwear matched her lipstick exactly, and seemed at odds with the hooker boots. It was an exciting combination, one that he felt his body reacting to the longer he feasted his eyes upon her.

'Nice to know you approve,' she said, with a slight smile. 'However, your approval doesn't matter here. Only the chastisement does.'

She tweaked one of his nipples and toyed with it, teasing it out, doing the same with the other before licking and blowing on each one. He shifted, trying to ease the tightness in his boxers. Her tongue was warm as it gently lapped at each nipple, her breath cool enough to make them crinkle and harden.

He knew what was coming next. The pain was excruciating as she put the nipple clamps on each already stimulated tip. He gritted his teeth. The sharp agony soon calmed to a hot throbbing. The chain between them was fastened to the steel collar, so he would have to be very careful not to yank on them by mistake. Despite the discomfort, he was fully aroused, the rush of blood down to his groin making him feel light-headed. 

She stood near his head admired her handiwork, running gentle fingertips down his chest, flicking the chain and continuing down to his stomach, leaning over him yet tantalisingly out of reach. He was gradually succumbing to whatever spell she had put upon him. Her perfume and unique personal scent were working their magic, adding to his discomfort. He nuzzled her stomach, catching the fine fabric of her panties in his teeth. That earned a hard slap to his chest and she moved away, picking up the flogger.

He held his breath as she slapped him with it, the strands of leather stinging his skin, leaving a growing warmth. His cries increased as she concentrated all around his groin, avoiding his erection, then when he was least expecting it, she hit him there, making his body jolt. The sensation was so intoxicating, he could feel himself slipping into oblivion. 

'You won't come until I say so,' she said firmly. "Do you understand?"

He was rock hard but there was no way he wanted to disappoint her.

"Yes, Mistress," he panted. He wanted desperately, yet dreaded the thought of her taking him in her mouth. Her fingers toyed with the elastic of his boxers, just above where the outline of his arousal was clearly visible. The thin silk was damp with pre-seminal fluid. He was so close, so close....

As if reading his mind, she shook her head, and he understood the nature of her punishment. She was the Mistress of his body. He had no power whatsoever. Over the next hour, she blindfolded him with his tie, flogged him, beat him, and drove him to the edge of ecstasy so many times he lost count. She tormented him with her body, brushing her exposed nipples across his lips, letting him feel her heat against his skin yet not allowing him inside her. She whipped him until he was shaking with endorphins, his brain unable to distinguish between pain and pleasure. All he could focus on was the need to be free, to throw her back on the bed and pound her into the mattress, but he was helpless, sweating and panting, his clothes and mind wrecked.

'I'm sorry,' he said finally. 'I can't stand it. Please...'

She gently tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. 'Please what?'

'Mistress. Please let me have you.' His voice was ragged with need.

She smiled savagely. 'You won't last. As soon as I free you, it will all be over. Is that what you want?'

His chest heaved with every breath. 'You've broken me. I...' His voice faded as she moved down to between his thighs. 

"Don't come," she ordered. 

His breath caught when he felt the silky warmth of her mouth close over his penis. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," he rasped, his back arching. He was holding on. God only knew how, but he was, as she took him all in. He had stopped breathing, waiting for that moment when her mouth would tighten around him and really let him feel the heat. His vision began to fade as the torment continued.

Yet she was also waiting, stringing out his agony until that moment when he couldn't hold his breath any longer. Just as he thought about taking that next gasp, her tongue curled around his shaft and her lips tightened around the base, fully enclosing him in a tight, hot embrace. He let out a long moan, his body yearning towards her. Every time he thought he was about to climax, she pulled him back from the brink.

"What do you want?" She asked against his skin.

"Finish me. Please Mistress. Please..."

That wicked tongue traced every vein and ridge, fluttering, flicking, driving him nearly insane. She was enjoying his torment, laughing softly when he spat insults in his native tongue. When she sucked him into her mouth again, it was too much. He lost all control, his body convulsed in a fusion of ecstasy and oxygen loss as her mouth flexed around him, swallowing everything he had to give her. The pleasure was so absolute, his eyesight clouded and everything went grey. 

"Henrik?" Her hand, slapping his face. "Henrik, wake up."

His eyelids fluttered. She was standing over him, wide-eyed. 

"Thank God. You scared the shit out of me!"

He gave her a stupid, sleepy smile. "Will you marry me?"

 


	15. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Day, and Hanssen's relationship with Susan seems to have cooled after his proposal. 
> 
> He meant it, but she hadn't believed him. After all, the situation they had been in at the time was hardly conducive to romance. She wants to know he is serious, and he is terrified of making a mistake. The result is stalemate until Bernie and Serena come up with a cunning plan.

She had laughed at him. Not unpleasantly, but it was obvious she couldn't see how serious he was. 

"You're still in sub-space," she said affectionately, making him decent and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Get dressed."

It had completely deflated him. He couldn't wait to get out of that house with the throbbing music and shadowy figures in bondage gear, the smell of sex, sweat and leather, the liquid laughter and soft grunts coming from the various rooms. 

All he wanted to do was go home. As they were driven away from the city, she held him as he rested his head on her shoulder. 

"I need to be alone tonight," he said when they arrived back at his car. 

"It's okay, I get it. Tonight was intense," she said. They kissed and he left her, guilt mingling with relief and gnawing disappointment. 

She hadn't believed him. 

Once he arrived back at his flat, he wanted to call her, to tell her he didn't want to be alone after all, but he couldn't. The moment had passed. He had stared at his phone for a long time, willing himself to send the message he had typed. 

_I meant it. Please believe me._

It sounded desperate. In the end he deleted it, unsent.

The next morning, she sent him one. 

_If you really want to marry me, damn well ask me properly._

He was going to call her, but his pager went off and then he was caught up in work. She was preoccupied with Jordan's medical emergency, then Christmas. The opportunity was slipping away. They hadn't seen each other since that night.

How had he managed to mess things up yet again?

 

******

 

Christmas Day, and he was at Serena and Bernie's house for a late lunch. The day had been taken up with Jason, Greta and Guinevere, which was a pleasant distraction, yet more than once he thought he should pick up the phone and talk to Susan, even though she was busy helping out at the Shelter.

Once Jason had taken his family home (it was Guinevere's bedtime, which had to be strictly observed,) They all collapsed in a relieved heap on the sofa.

"Peace at least." Serena shifted on the sofa and flumped back down again. "That was a wonderful meal, Bernie. Well done."

'The food was exceptional,' Hanssen conceded. 'I feel quite replete.' He patted his stomach, which didn't feel quite as flat as it usually did. Serena and Bernie had made sure he wouldn't go hungry, that was for sure.

'Bernie, darling, we need more wine!' Serena called to her wife.

'I really shouldn't. It's probably time I left you two alone.' He carefully eased Serena's bare feet from his legs and stood up.

'You're not leaving already?' Bernie said from the kitchen door, 'I was just about to open another bottle.'

'I appreciate the gesture, but I have no wish to outstay my welcome.' Hanssen kissed Bernie on the cheek and leaned down to do the same to Serena. 'Enjoy your evening. It's been a very enjoyable day. Thank you.' As he stood up again, he swayed slightly. The excesses of the past few hours had left him feeling rather light-headed.

'Don't talk nonsense. You'll never get a cab on Christmas Day. You're staying here,' Bernie said, in a voice that told him it was futile to argue.

He sank back down on the sofa, stretched out his long legs and closed his eyes. Serena resumed her position on his thighs and Bernie curled up in the chair opposite. For a while, they just sat, letting their gargantuan Christmas lunch settle.

'I take it you haven't called her,' Serena said eventually.

Hanssen opened one eye and shut it again.

'That's a no,' Bernie murmured.

'Don't think I don't know what you've been doing,' Hanssen said, his eyes still closed. 'Plying me with wine and good food, hoping for some nuggets of information. It won't work, you know.'

'Why haven't you called her?' Bernie said, as direct as ever.

Hanssen opened his eyes."To be honest, I don't know whether I should."

"Of course you should!" Serena sat up and turned to face him. "Henrik, you can't just propose to someone and then not call them when they turn you down! She didn't say she wasn't interested, did she?"

"What exactly did she say?" Bernie came to join them. 

Hanssen sighed patiently. "She didn't believe me. She said I would regret it in the morning and to think about what it was I really wanted. Then Mr. Stapleton was rushed into Holby with kidney stones and the subject seems to have been shelved."

"Was it a serious proposal?" Bernie looked curiously at him. 

"Yes! But at the time I was in .... it was ..." No, he wouldn't divulge those details. It didn't matter how much eggnog they had plied him with. 

"To be honest, there are better ways to ask a woman to marry her, rather than in a sex dungeon in the arse end of Holby," Serena chuckled. "And they say romance is dead."

"How did...?"

"Jordan Stapleton told me in AAU. He seemed to think it was highly amusing but he was high on morphine at the time. I think he told Dominic Copeland as well."

"Oh God." Hanssen covered his face with his hands. "That means the whole hospital knows by now."

"Oh I wouldn't worry. It's done your street cred no harm at all."

Bernie waved her words away. "It's irrelevant. How are you going to ask her now?"

"She's obviously expecting something a little more salubrious." Serena's tongue tripped over the word. "I've got it! Bernie, darling, this is brilliant. The Masked Ball!"

Bernie grasped her wrist, her eyes wide. "Yes! Henrik, we have the perfect solution. The question is, does she want to marry you? It will be a disaster if she doesn't."

"I ..." He remembered the last words Susan had said to him. "I don't need you, Henrik. I love you, and I want you, but only when you are 100% percent sure this is what you want. And if you're going to propose, do it properly."

She didn't need a man to find fulfilment but she loved him. He hung on to that every time he doubted himself. But that old cowardice was never far from the surface, and having been given a reprieve, it had reared its hideous head again, bringing with it an unwillingness to commit, to face the truth. It was a form of self-harm, his psychiatrist had explained, yet he had harmed so many. That was why he had not allowed himself to love.

He didn't think he deserved it.

'Masked Ball? What are you talking about?' As he looked from Bernie to Serena and back again, the matching sparkle in their eyes dashed away his dark thoughts, leaving him deeply suspicious.

'New Year's Eve. There's a ball at Holstead Hall.' Bernie retrieved a gold envelope from the mantelpiece. "Susan has organised it to raise money for the homeless shelter so she's definitely going to be there. Jac and Fletch are going. So are Dominic and Lofty. I believe Frieda is going as herself. Is that right, Serena?"

"Behave. She's going with Ric as Morticia and Gomez Addams."

"Who?" Hanssen had no idea what they were talking about.

I'm going as a Knight of the Round Table," Bernie said. "I'm sure you would have received an invitation, Henrik."

"It must have been lost in the post." Hanssen distinctly remembered dropping the wretched thing in the bin as soon as he read it.

'And I'll be the Lady of Shallott.' Serena smiled like a cat with a bowl of cream. 'Resistance is futile, Henrik. You're coming with us, and we're going to organise your costume.'

Hanssen looked her dead in the eye.

'No way in hell.'

 

******

 

His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. What was he doing there? The ring box felt like a lump of granite in his pocket. He couldn't stand it if she rejected him again. This was a terrible idea. He looked ridiculous and felt a fool.

The line of cars moved slowly forward. It was too late to turn around. He would have to travel round the one-way system around the fountain before he could make his escape.

Perhaps there would be nowhere to park. Then he could keep on driving and just go home.

A knock on his window made him jump.

'I can take your car from here and park it for you,' the valet said, smiling.

'Right.' He squeezed the steering wheel again. The man was waiting. He had no choice. 'Thank you.' He climbed out of the safety of the car and handed his keys to the valet, who gave him a ticket for their return.

'Have a good evening, sir.'

He felt very alone as the man drove away in his only means of escape. There was nothing for it.

He was committed.

 


	16. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the Masked Ball, New Year's Eve, and Hanssen has never felt more terrified in his life.

Holstead Hall stood just outside the town, set in seventy-five acres of parkland. Below the veranda, and beyond the formal parterre and gardens, was a lake, behind which the fireworks would be set off. The hope was the water would reflect the colours and make for an unforgettable finale to the evening. 

So far it was going well. Most of the guests had enjoyed a four course meal and were ready to dance it all off in the palatial ballroom. The music had been mostly Gershwin being played on a grand piano and a quartet as the first guests arrived. Now the musicians had gone and a DJ was playing popular songs from the 60's, 70's and 80's. They were under strict instructions not to play too much techno or rap, just tunes that would get everyone up on the dance floor. 

Susan knew the evening was going well, and she had finally begun to relax, knowing everyone was having a good time. She had kept off the alcohol but was now on her first glass of champagne. She wore a close-fitting emerald green silk dress with a flowing skirt that was slit up to the thigh. The top crossed over in a deep vee at the front and back, leaving her arms and back exposed. It had survived a tango with Jordan's boyfriend. He had dipped her so low she was afraid her breasts might fall out of the top, but so far the tape she had put in as a precaution was holding.

As she worked the crown, there were familiar faces from Holby General, some of whom now she considered friends. Dom had already hugged her and told her the party was brilliant. He and Lofty looked dashing in Zorro masks. 

Jordan and his boyfriend were Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio respectively. They wore exquisite masks that Jordan had made himself, with iridescent feathers and shimmering sequins. Each one was a work of art. He excitedly told Susan he had gained a lot of potential business that evening from people interested in his costumes. It seemed the New Year was looking up. 

"Fletch looks good in a bandana," Dom commented. "But what the hell is Jac wearing?"

Susan looked over to where Jac Naylor was snogging a pirate. 

"I'm too scared to ask," Lofty said.

Jac came over and looked Susan up and down. "I thought you'd be in latex."

"That's for my day job," Susan countered."And you're the Queen of Hearts. That's clever."

"I thought so." Jac headed off to the bar, Fletch in tow.

"When will she stop hating me?" Susan asked sadly. 

Dom slung his arm around her neck. "Don't take it personally. She hates everyone."

"She doesn't hate Mr. Hanssen," Lofty said. 

"Where is he, anyway? I wanted to see what he would turn up as." Dom looked around. "He's definitely not here."

At that moment, a man dressed as a Dalmation dragged Susan onto the dance-floor. She pasted a grin on her face and left them to it.

"Who the hell is that?" Bernie asked. She scowled at the man as Susan went off with him. 

"God knows. He's been hounding her all evening," Serena replied.

"Hounding! Get it?" Lofty laughed. 

Dom rolled his eyes. "God, he's persistent. She's obviously not interested. What is it with cis het men?'

"And where in God's name is Hanssen?" Jordan fretted. "Please don't tell me he isn't coming. After all the effort I put into making him look good, he'd better bloody be here."

"Of course he'll be here. He does have something important to ask her, doesn't he?" Dom gave Jordan a nudge. 

"If he's really going to ask the question, I doubt he'll do it in front of everybody. He's hardly the sort to make a great big song and dance about something so important," Serena said. "I doubt we'll hear anything until we get back to work on Wednesday."

"I can't wait that long!" Dom whined. "Come on, Mr. Hanssen proposing to a dominatrix? That's just ...."

"Bizarre," Jac said. She had arrived back with two glasses of champagne and Fletch on a dog lead. "We found this. I could get to like this domination business."

"No different to usual," Fletch said, squeezing her bottom.

"None of that. I'll have to spank you." Jac wrinkled her nose and looked around. "Where is he? I don't think the world is ready for Henrik Hanssen in bondage gear. I wonder what he's wearing?"

"What ever it is, I've no doubt it will be tasteful," Serena said. "Come on, everyone, let's dance while we can still stand up. I'm not here just to organise the love lives of straight friends, you know." She took Bernie's hand. "Let's tango."

"To Club Tropicana?" But Bernie laughed as she was led away.

 

******

 

Susan had managed to escape Dalmation Man. She was in a small group, talking about the shelter, finding it hard to hear over the music. As she paused for breath, she glanced towards the stairs yet again. The huge staircase provided a perfect setting for anyone wanting to make a grand entrance, but so far, the one person she wanted to see hadn't arrived. She was beginning to think he wouldn't. 

After all, it wasn't his sort of thing. Why would she have expected him to come tonight of all nights? They were still at odds, after all. So much had happened since their evening at the BDSM munch. Jordan had been back in hospital, though luckily he had made a full recovery. She had moved house. And then there was Christmas. Hanssen had been busy at work and she had been reluctant to take his attention away from things which really mattered. Peoples' lives took priority over her feelings. 

And yet she missed him so much. The temptation to call him had been almost unbearable at times, but she didn't because it wasn't in her nature to chase anyone. He had to make the first move. And so far, he hadn't. 

So it was time to move on.

As she told herself that, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Tall and cloaked over a black dinner suit, carrying a crystal-tipped cane. Half of his face was obscured by a white Phantom mask, but she knew instantly. 

_Henrik._

 

******

 

Hanssen took a deep breath, remembering what Jordan had told him earlier that day.

'Whatever you do, you must sell it. Bring it one hundred percent. No half measures.'

_Sell it. Bring it. No half measures._

Right.

With another deep breath, he put his game face on. His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he approached the house. Two doormen opened the large oak doors at his approach. He had half-expected them to laugh at him, but they showed no sign of amusement.

'Good evening, sir,' one said as he ascended the steps. He gave them a curt nod as he walked past. The mask felt snug upon his face, providing him with some form of safety shield against the outside world. In a strange way it was rather liberating.

Now he caught sight of his reflection in the huge gilt-edged mirror in the reception hall. A tall, slim man in a black dinner suit, with a black, red-lined cloak around his shoulders, his face half hidden in a Phantom of the Opera mask. Jordan had insisted on eyeliner as well, just to increase the dramatic effect. He hardly recognised himself.

A waiter in small gold briefs and a pearl-embellished mask proffered a tray of champagne. He took a glass and entered the fray.

It was a colourful scene, people of all shapes, sizes and genders in their finest, their faces obscured by elaborate masks. He wondered how the hell he was going to find anyone.

'Thank god, I thought you'd chickened out,' a voice said beside him. He looked and saw a six foot version of Marilyn Monroe, but the voice was definitely masculine.

'Mr. Stapleton, I presume,' he murmured in response.

Jordan critically appraised him. 'Not bad at all. I watched when you came in. People are wondering who you are.'

Hanssen didn't care about that. As far as he was concerned, the only reason he was there, wearing such a ludicrous outfit, was for Susan. No-one else.

Two women approached, one in medieval dress, the other with a phony moustache.

'Mrs. Campbell and Ms. Wolfe. I had no idea you knew Mr. Stapleton so well.'

'It's a small world,' Serena said gaily. 'You look magnificent, Henrik.'

'Thank you. Let's get this done discreetly, without making some godforsaken scene about it. Where is she?'

'Last seen out on the veranda. There's an annoying Dalmation who won't leave her alone."

Hanssen scowled in the direction of the veranda. "Is that right?"

Jordan made a placating motion. "Now Mr. Hanssen, remember what I said to you. Don't ..."

'I think I can take over from here.' Hanssen handed Jordan his champagne glass and headed off with a determined stride. On the way, he plucked a long-stemmed white rose from one of the pedestal flower arrangements.

 

******

 

Susan had escaped outside. The view over the city was beautiful, lights reflected in the dark waters of the lake below her. The cold night air made a welcome change from the heat of the dance floor, and to be alone was a blessed relief. She had sent Dalmation Man away to get her a drink, hoping he would forget half way there and be distracted by someone else.

She had obviously been wrong about sighting Hanssen, and the disappointment was crushing. She just wanted to leave, but was obliged to stay for the auction at the end of the night, paste a smile on her face and ignore the fact that her heart was breaking. 

Surely it had been him? If so, where was he?

The light touch across the back of her neck made her start. It seemed too subtle a caress for Ricardo. A soft gravelled voice whispered the words, ' _nunc scio quid sit amor_ ," in her ear.

She bit back a smile as the words echoed from not so long in the past.

_Now I know what love is._

She closed her eyes and sighed. "You're late."

"I apologise, Mistress."

Biting back a smile, she turned to see the tall man in the Phantom mask. A barrage of emotions hit her at once, but right then, she did the only thing that mattered.

'Henrik!' She threw her arms around him and held him tightly. The sense of relief was overwhelming. He held onto her like a dying man.

After a long moment, she pulled away so she could look at him properly. He was ... there were no adjectives for what he was. Beautiful, extraordinary, overwhelmingly strange, didn't even come close. She felt tears pressing the backs of her eyes.

'I'm so sorry.' His hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. 'I've been a coward and a fool yet again.'

She bit back a sob. 'Yes, you have. Why didn't you call me, you bastard? What did I do wrong?'

'Nothing! It was me. I was so afraid of... feeling as strongly as I did, so I did my usual thing and blocked it out. I thought it would be safer for both of us that way.'

She stared at him in disbelief. 'Safer? You're kidding, right? You've just said you blanked me for my benefit?'

'I'm no good at this, Susan! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you but that is what I do. I hurt people. The people I love, the people I work with...'

She stopped his flow of words with a kiss. For a second he froze, then relaxed against her, drawing her into his arms. He tasted of champagne and smelled of expensive cedarwood aftershave. She felt her stomach tighten with arousal but it was too soon. They had so much to talk about first.

'Hey! Hey, pal. She's with me.' Dalmation Man was approaching them, looking mightily pissed off. He glared at Susan as they broke apart. 'What the hell? You're supposed to be with me!'

'Maybe now you'll get the message,' she said firmly. 'I'm sorry, Ricardo, but no means no.'

'Great.' The man addressed Hanssen. 'Then if you want to do that, you have to pay her by the hour.'

Hanssen's face darkened at the insult. He stepped away from Susan and loomed menacingly over the smaller man.

'Say that again.'

Ricardo sneered. 'If you want ...'

He didn't get any further. Hanssen swung his fist.

Dalmation Man staggered backwards, holding his nose.

'Why, you....' He launched forward.

Hanssen was obviously surprised by the strength of the man knocking into him. He stumbled back, caught his heel on a slightly raised flagstone and went down, the other man on top of him, laying into him with both fists.

'Ricardo, get off him!' Susan knew she wouldn't be able to stop him. She looked around for help. 

"Here, use this." Jac handed her an ice bucket, taking out the bottle of champagne.

Susan didn't hesitate. She tipped the contents over Dalmation Man's head. As he let out an outraged bawl, two heavy-set doormen came and dragged him off Hanssen, before taking him away.

Dazed, Hanssen tried to sit up. Susan knelt next to him and gently dabbed his bloody nose with a serviette.

'You idiot. He's an ex-boxer.'

'How was I supposed to know that?' He gave her an exasperated look. 'What is it about you that makes men behave like schoolchildren?'

She laughed. 'I have no idea, but that's their problem, not mine.'

She heard Jac say "I like her," to Fletch. They were surrounded by Holby staff, looking concerned. 

"That was a clean right hook, Henrik," Ric said. "But you forgot to keep your guard up."

Susan and Hanssen looked at each other. Before she had a chance to react, Hanssen had pulled her down and was kissing her hard. She lay full length on top of him, his arms around her, and for long moments they were oblivious to anyone else.

Jordan, Serena and Bernie had heard the ruckus and had gone to see what was happening. Jordan stared at Susan and Hanssen on the floor, kissing as if no-one was watching, then turned to the two women.

"Be discreet, he said. Don't make a scene, he said. Didn't you hear him say that?"

Serena patted his arm. "I think our work here is done."

 

******

 

Midnight was fast approaching. People gathered on the veranda to wait for the fireworks over the lake. Susan and Hanssen walked down the stone steps and found a long bench in the middle of the parterre. As soon as they sat down, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box. 

"I wanted to give you this. Well, it's for us really, not just you. When I said I wanted to ..." He faltered over the words. 

"Just say it," she said gently. 

He took a deep breath. "All right. I don't think either of us are ready for marriage yet. We hardly know each other and we have so much to learn so this isn't a proposal. That might come in the future. We'll see how it goes but ... what I'm trying to say is ... I want exclusivity, Susan. I want us to be ... together. God, I'm really making a mess of this."

She took his hand and held it tightly. "It's all right. I don't want marriage either. Certainly not yet, but as far as I'm concerned, we've been exclusive since our first date."

"We have?" 

"Well, I have. Haven't you?" She gave him a teasing smile and looked at the box. He seemed to have forgotten it was there.

"Oh!" He saw where she was looking. "This is... please don't worry if it isn't ... appropriate." He thrust the box at her. 

She opened it and drew out a collar made up of many find silver links. There was an O ring for adding restraints, and a small padlock holding the piece together. As a a slave collar, it was one of the finest she had seen, but there was an issue. 

"It's beautiful...." she began.

"I'm glad you like it. I was hoping ..."

She held up a hand to stop the gush of words. "Henrik, it is customary for the domme to present the sub with a collar, not the other way around." 

To her surprise, his smile was confident. "Yes, Lady Gabrielle, but you said yourself, we are just two people, doing things our own way. I would like to wear this collar for you, whenever, wherever you demand it. Whether you would like to wear it for me is entirely your decision."

She returned his smile, knowing he was right. The submissive _was_ always the one in true control. She had taught him well, and now he was committing to her as her submissive, as her slave, giving permission for the dynamic to switch whenever she felt the need. 

"And by the way, I love you," he whispered, kissing her softly on the lips. She reached up to stroke his face as the kiss deepened, aware of a distant cheer in the background. 

"I think everyone is assuming you're going to propose," she whispered when the kiss ended. "Do you fancy explaining to them what we've really done?"

"Well, it was a proposal of sorts." He took off his bowtie and shoved it in his pocket, then unfastened the first three buttons of his dress shirt. He looked a lot more louche and sexy like that, but one thing was needed to complete the look. 

"On your knees," she said firmly. When he obeyed, she put the collar around his neck and fastened the padlock, positioning it so it lay at the base of his throat. "Very nice. You're mine now. Officially."

His smile was sultry. "You'd better have this. I do have another one, should that one be mislaid accidentally or on purpose." He held up a small key. She took it from his fingers and slipped it inside her bra.

"Thank you, Mr. Hanssen. Just remember, insubordination is a punishable offence." 

"Then I shall endeavour to be as insubordinate as possible."

High above them, the first rocket soared up into the sky and exploded. Hanssen wrapped his cloak around them both and they huddled together, watching the show.

'You look great in guyliner,' she said, between explosions. 'Any chance you'll ever wear it again?'

'No way in hell.' A long pause. 'Unless, of course, Lady Gabrielle demands I do.'

'You can count on it.'

They leaned together, watching the fireworks celebrate the New Year, before walking hand in hand back to their loving, complicated Holby family.


End file.
